STAR TREK: KHITOMER
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- Start date
Thank you, Tom. I always welcome good ideas. I have already something in motion about the Borg, which has been hinted to in a former installment. And yes, there will be some involvement from the whole galaxy in what will become much more important than a puny Federation-Borg-Dominion war.
But that will come in due time.
But that will come in due time.
Glad to see this series is still going strong, I've been away but now that I'm back I'm really looking forward to catching up on what I've missed. Here's hoping there's been lots of uber-violence! 
I have one more proposal to you: the parts of stories isn't very long, so far. Look how long is every chapter of U.S.S. Yorktown!The length suits me. It allows quick revisions and more thinking.
***
Still in the Yorktown's Mess Hall, Yirina was listening to the two friends having their usual conversation.
"If I may ask", Vasik asked Miral, "why is everybody looking at us?"
Miral smiled.
"A Romulan, a Klingon and a Vulcan go into a bar. The Vulcan asks silly questions. The Klingon and the Romulan break his skull and neck."
"What?"
"It's a joke, Dummy."
"Ah. Maybe you can answer this question then. Why are you calling Yirina 'weakling', and why is she calling you 'garbage'?"
"For the same reason I'm calling you 'Dummy', Dummy."
Vasik nodded.
"Because you are friends?"
"Yeah! But since she calls you Vasik, and you call her Yirina, it means that you don't like each other. And I'm warning you both: I won't have that between my friends!"
"Huh?"
Miral laughed.
"Jeez, you're easy! Yirina told me that Vulcans were stupid, but I never would have thought they could be so dumb!"
"I did not …" Yirina began timidly.
"Please, Yirina." Vasik answered. "Miral has a very particular sense of humor. I am certain that she is — how do humans say? — fibbing to make both of us feel uneasy. But she knows enough not to think I could believe her. I have to go anyway. The sensor diagnostic will not perform itself. Miral, my pleasure. Yirina, I am very happy to know you at last."
The young ensign stood up and left. Yirina kept looking at him intensely.
"Nice butts!" Yirina noticed.
Miral looked at her friend.
"What?"
"Well, it's true."
"I … Yirina, I'm shocked!"
"Do you have a claim on them?"
Miral looked again at her friend.
"Huh? No! He's just ... a friend, that's all."
Yirina looked at Miral and smiled cunningly. For once she had really shut Miral up.
"Then his ass is mine!"
***
Kara Grem had been hired.
It was not a big job, it was not a much-paying job — food, shelter, clothes, and a very small wage — but it was the kind of job so many Bajorans hoped to get some day.
Vedek Monas was an old man. He had spent his whole life taking care of the Kai's arboretum surrounding the place where she worked all day, the Kalian Monastery. He was not your typical Vedek.
"So, you're my new slave, huh?"
"Yes, Vedek."
"I thought you came from Starfleet Academy."
"I have spent two years there, Vedek."
"Studying what exactly?"
"Engineering and Tactical, Sir."
"Huh. And now you come here, ready to dirty your hands and break your back all day long working in dirt. Why?"
"I wish to serve the Prophets, Vedek."
"Huh huh. The only vision you'll get here are the blisters you'll get all over your body, even if you start using those gloves in your belt. That's not where they're supposed to be, you know!"
Grem took the gloves and put them on her hands.
"Where's your hat?"
"My hat?"
"Your hat, girl! Do you really expect to spend a full day under the sun without a hat? Is that what they teach you at Starfleet Academy?"
"No, Sir."
"Then why are you not wearing a hat? Here, take mine. I have a thousand of those!"
"Yes, Sir. Thank you, Sir."
"And stop calling me Sir. I work for a living! And I'm only 115!"
"Yes, S … Chief?"
"Better. Now get to work, young lady. Tonight you'll sleep, I promise you that!"
***
Of course, today Molly had found even more than the day before. Now she was absolutely sure of the origin of the detonator which had destroyed the ship. That had strengthened her will to die rather than tell "them" what she had learned. And she would certainly not tell them either about the seemingly unrelated, but ultimately terrifying discovery she had made that very day …
"They" had not been pleased by her refusal to cooperate. So now she was here, hanging by her wrists, having been felt, fondled, smacked, clawed, burnt, and now prodded with that painstick which was searing her inside out, burning her naked flesh to the bone …
She could not even faint. Before they even began, they had injected her with Codasol, the damn inhibitor preventing her from doing just that, forcing her to live through the agony until her tormentors decided that enough was enough, or they killed her.
The painstick struck again, on her butts this time. She screamed again. She sobbed again. They laughed again. They were very careful at not hitting her twice at the exact same place, and they also took their time, letting her starting to relax from the last burn, before striking again.
Two hours it lasted before they brought her back and threw her on her bed. She hadn’t been hit more than twenty times, but she was hurting from almost every part of her body. She could not stand up, she could not — certainly not — sit down, and laying on her back or her stomach only caused her more pain. Finally she curled up on her side and fell asleep, sobbing like a baby.
But "they" were not happy.
"I told you to scare her, not to kill her!"
"The little one is not dead, General."
"Maybe not, but she will be at least two days without being able to get up, much less work! And we don’t have time for that!"
"She will need much longer than that."
"Maybe, but I don’t intend to wait until that human feels good about her life before I put her back to work! Next time, follow my instructions. Is that clear?"
"Huuuhh … Yes, General!"
"Dismissed!"
***
Still in the Yorktown's Mess Hall, Yirina was listening to the two friends having their usual conversation.
"If I may ask", Vasik asked Miral, "why is everybody looking at us?"
Miral smiled.
"A Romulan, a Klingon and a Vulcan go into a bar. The Vulcan asks silly questions. The Klingon and the Romulan break his skull and neck."
"What?"
"It's a joke, Dummy."
"Ah. Maybe you can answer this question then. Why are you calling Yirina 'weakling', and why is she calling you 'garbage'?"
"For the same reason I'm calling you 'Dummy', Dummy."
Vasik nodded.
"Because you are friends?"
"Yeah! But since she calls you Vasik, and you call her Yirina, it means that you don't like each other. And I'm warning you both: I won't have that between my friends!"
"Huh?"
Miral laughed.
"Jeez, you're easy! Yirina told me that Vulcans were stupid, but I never would have thought they could be so dumb!"
"I did not …" Yirina began timidly.
"Please, Yirina." Vasik answered. "Miral has a very particular sense of humor. I am certain that she is — how do humans say? — fibbing to make both of us feel uneasy. But she knows enough not to think I could believe her. I have to go anyway. The sensor diagnostic will not perform itself. Miral, my pleasure. Yirina, I am very happy to know you at last."
The young ensign stood up and left. Yirina kept looking at him intensely.
"Nice butts!" Yirina noticed.
Miral looked at her friend.
"What?"
"Well, it's true."
"I … Yirina, I'm shocked!"
"Do you have a claim on them?"
Miral looked again at her friend.
"Huh? No! He's just ... a friend, that's all."
Yirina looked at Miral and smiled cunningly. For once she had really shut Miral up.
"Then his ass is mine!"
***
Kara Grem had been hired.
It was not a big job, it was not a much-paying job — food, shelter, clothes, and a very small wage — but it was the kind of job so many Bajorans hoped to get some day.
Vedek Monas was an old man. He had spent his whole life taking care of the Kai's arboretum surrounding the place where she worked all day, the Kalian Monastery. He was not your typical Vedek.
"So, you're my new slave, huh?"
"Yes, Vedek."
"I thought you came from Starfleet Academy."
"I have spent two years there, Vedek."
"Studying what exactly?"
"Engineering and Tactical, Sir."
"Huh. And now you come here, ready to dirty your hands and break your back all day long working in dirt. Why?"
"I wish to serve the Prophets, Vedek."
"Huh huh. The only vision you'll get here are the blisters you'll get all over your body, even if you start using those gloves in your belt. That's not where they're supposed to be, you know!"
Grem took the gloves and put them on her hands.
"Where's your hat?"
"My hat?"
"Your hat, girl! Do you really expect to spend a full day under the sun without a hat? Is that what they teach you at Starfleet Academy?"
"No, Sir."
"Then why are you not wearing a hat? Here, take mine. I have a thousand of those!"
"Yes, Sir. Thank you, Sir."
"And stop calling me Sir. I work for a living! And I'm only 115!"
"Yes, S … Chief?"
"Better. Now get to work, young lady. Tonight you'll sleep, I promise you that!"
***
Of course, today Molly had found even more than the day before. Now she was absolutely sure of the origin of the detonator which had destroyed the ship. That had strengthened her will to die rather than tell "them" what she had learned. And she would certainly not tell them either about the seemingly unrelated, but ultimately terrifying discovery she had made that very day …
"They" had not been pleased by her refusal to cooperate. So now she was here, hanging by her wrists, having been felt, fondled, smacked, clawed, burnt, and now prodded with that painstick which was searing her inside out, burning her naked flesh to the bone …
She could not even faint. Before they even began, they had injected her with Codasol, the damn inhibitor preventing her from doing just that, forcing her to live through the agony until her tormentors decided that enough was enough, or they killed her.
The painstick struck again, on her butts this time. She screamed again. She sobbed again. They laughed again. They were very careful at not hitting her twice at the exact same place, and they also took their time, letting her starting to relax from the last burn, before striking again.
Two hours it lasted before they brought her back and threw her on her bed. She hadn’t been hit more than twenty times, but she was hurting from almost every part of her body. She could not stand up, she could not — certainly not — sit down, and laying on her back or her stomach only caused her more pain. Finally she curled up on her side and fell asleep, sobbing like a baby.
But "they" were not happy.
"I told you to scare her, not to kill her!"
"The little one is not dead, General."
"Maybe not, but she will be at least two days without being able to get up, much less work! And we don’t have time for that!"
"She will need much longer than that."
"Maybe, but I don’t intend to wait until that human feels good about her life before I put her back to work! Next time, follow my instructions. Is that clear?"
"Huuuhh … Yes, General!"
"Dismissed!"
Some excellent dialogue, very realistic and quite funny at times. I like your interweaving of Prophet mythos into this, and glad to see Molly is still being featured prominently. Looking forward to the next post...
CHAPTER SIX
February 15, 2400
Akeen and Akoval Shran were alone now. Miles O'Brien had left Salan to start the mission he had decided to lead himself: the Task Force. The twin detectives, direct descendants of the notorious Andorian Imperial Guard General Thy'lek Shran, a main partaker in the creation of the United Federation of Planets, almost 240 years earlier, were indeed the keenest investigators the Federation had.
They clearly remembered the last part of the conversation they had had with Admiral O'Brien a few days earlier.
"Something is troubling you, Admiral?"
"No, nothing."
"Admiral, please? Something is bothering you. Does it have anything to do with the investigation?"
"It's just … How come we found it?"
"Found what? This toolkit?"
"It belongs to Molly."
"It was where your daughter was supposed to be, Admiral."
"But she was not."
"No. We would have found some trace of her, like we found numerous corpses around here."
"Six, if I remember well."
"Yes, Admiral."
"Including Hars', who was right beside the toolkit."
"Could she have loaned it to him?"
"No, impossible! Something is wrong."
"What do you mean, Sir?"
"This is Molly's personal toolkit. Nothing's missing."
"So?"
"My daughter always wears that toolkit on her belt. She will take it off only because she plans to use, not just one — because she doesn't need to look inside to know where her tools are — but several tools."
"And the toolkit is full, yet alone."
"Exactly."
"And she couldn't have loaned it to, say, this Hars person?"
"Never!"
"So maybe she just had taken it out, and she was called somewhere else?"
"You don't know my daughter, Mister Shran. She would never leave her toolkit unattended, not even for five seconds. I taught her that."
***
Sabrina was so happy to finally leave the hospital. It wasn't a bad place — in fact, Starfleet had worked very hard at making it as comfortable as possible — but it was now a very bad memory for her. Now, she would know what kind of future, if any, she still had in Starfleet.
She was not optimistic. After all, independently of all the reassurances she had received, she still had broken an experimental battleship on which Starfleet Command had based all their hopes for a counterattack. Yeah, she had brought it back, but at the cost of 600 officers and crewmen.
Wilkins was behind his desk. He stopped reading and raised his head. Sabrina stood at attention and introduced herself:
"Lieutenant Junior Grade Sabrina Helena Watson, Serial Number SH-12016412, currently without assignment, reporting for duty, Sir."
Wilkins looked at her.
"Wrong, wrong, wrong, wrong!"
"Sir?"
"Is this some kind of joke? Or are you trying to make me puke?"
Sabrina started panicking.
"Sir?"
"Is that the last word you will ever utter?"
"I'm sorry, Sir, I just … I don't understand."
"You better be sorry! You come in here, on my ship, the Federation's Beta Command's flagship, and you dare to introduce yourself by giving me a rank which is not yours anymore, wearing an uniform you shouldn't be allowed to wear any longer, and to crown it all, you have the gall to ask for duties?"
Sabrina was now in full panic mode.
"I'm sorry, Sir, I've been told to report to you as soon as I would come out of the hospital. I was hoping for an assignment, but of course, I'm ready to pay for my … actions."
"Your actions? Let's talk about your actions! Let's start by reading the list, shall we?"
***
The alert was over on the Yorktown.
Patrolling close to occupied Romulan space, the proud starship had been attacked by two squads of Jem'Hadar fighters. Engineering had been abuzz for hours, trying to repair all kinds of damages all around. Even Yirina had been put to contribution, and she had demonstrated quite some flair, particularly when the starboard phaser matrix had collapsed, and she had repaired it in thirty seconds flat.
But in the official log, Lieutenant Jethro Watson was the genius all behind it. As for Yirina, she had received a sneaky punch in the ribs as her reward for "not minding her own business".
Now Yirina and Miral were in their quarters. Yirina had been transferred in Miral's quarters, since they seemed to be such good friends — "twisted alien bosom buddies", like Watson said.
But in reality, the diminutive Romulan was having quite different plans. And tonight, the object of those plans, Lieutenant Junior Grade Vasik, propulsion specialist, was with the two friends.
"From what I hear, the official Engineering log is somewhat erroneous, Yirina. The starboard phasers were repaired by you, weren't they?"
Yirina smiled. That wasn't the voice or the look of a cold, logical, unconcerned Vulcan. It was a friend speaking.
"It wasn't that hard, Vasik."
"Not that hard? I can't for the life of me figure out what you did! What made you think of depolarizing the alpha photon buffers instead of re-polarizing them?"
"It seemed the logical thing to do."
"But you seemed to do it without even thinking about it", Miral intervened. "I was there, I saw it all! Where did it come from?"
"I've studied those buffers. I …"
"I studied them too, Yirina. Nowhere in any Starfleet report or paper is it even suggested that depolarization could be done directly, without first resetting the power matrix!"
Yirina looked at both of her friends. Either she would find a way to convince them that it was all a fluke, or …
"I didn't really think of how to do it. I just thought of what had to be done, and I tried the most direct approach."
"But how did you know that the buffers were the problem? Everyone was trying to realign the matter-antimatter flux dispensers! THAT was the logical way to go!"
"I didn't think of that."
"You didn't think of the flux dispensers, but you went right to the buffers, took them out the right way, exactly in the right order, depolarized them in about ten seconds, and put them back the right way, exactly in the right order again, and all by sheer luck? Don't take me for a fool, ryak'na. Where did you learn how to do that?"
They had found her out. She might as well tell them.
"That's the way I did it on the Deletham."
***
The Shran Brothers had been introduced to Wilkins, B'Elanna and Tomalak. They were ready to report their conclusions.
"Admiral, Colonel, Proconsul", Akeen began, "we will report our conclusions as briefly and as clearly as possible. First: it was not an accident, contrary to what has been suggested earlier. It was sabotage. The objective of the operation, however, may not be quite as clear-cut."
"I knew it! Those Klingons can never tell the truth when their 'honor' is involved!" Tomalak sneered.
B'Elanna didn't react. She kept peering at Akeen thoroughly.
"It is not yet established that the operation has an exclusively Klingon origin, Proconsul", Akoval answered.
"I'm still betting on the Children of Grethor", B'Elanna mumbled.
"At this time, so would we, Colonel", Akoval confirmed. "But we need more than intuition or even logic before we redirect our investigation. Besides, there is … something else."
"What?" Wilkins said.
"We have every reason to believe that, at the time of the explosion, Lieutenant O'Brien was nowhere in the Salan shipyards, where she was assumed to be."
"WHAT?" B'Elanna screamed. "But I have …"
"I do not doubt your word, Colonel. Besides, the logs confirm Lieutenant O'Brien's return. But she was not there when the explosion occurred."
"Ha! A Federation trick!"
"Tomalak, please!" Wilkins answered. "Your conclusions?"
"It's very strange that this disappearance happened right after her unsuccessful attempt to talk to the High Council, Admiral. According to Colonel Torres, several members of the Council clearly wanted her to shut up. We have to wonder if they really were not interested, or …"
"If they wanted to be the only ones to know!"
"Know what, Colonel?"
"What she found out, and who she told it to, of course!"
"Did she tell you?"
"Some of it. It all points to the Children of Grethor."
"Are you sure?"
"Not yet, but I'm going to get you some answers, Admiral. I'll get them if I have to spank the son of a bitch with his own arm!"
And B'Elanna stormed out of Wilkins's office, clearly determined to keep the word she had just given.
***
Sabrina was still at attention, and her heart was beating so fast she was expecting her chest to explode at any time. Wilkins was standing up too, now right in front of her, getting ready to read from a PADD.
"I have here the reports from all the Chameleon's survivors, except yours."
"Sorry, Sir. They didn't let me get access to a PADD until …"
"Until you actually learned to use one without feeling anything with your fingers, I know."
"Yes, Sir."
"But now you know?"
"I manage, Sir."
"Then I expect this report on my desk by tomorrow at 0800. In the meantime, I also have the computer logs, those which could be salvaged anyway. About five months ago, the Chameleon was fired upon by Jem'Hadar battleships, which destroyed the Bridge, most of Engineering, Sickbay, and about half of the rest of the ship. Is that right?"
"Yes, Sir."
"As there was no survivor from the Senior Staff, you took on yourself to assume command, although technically not only are you not qualified for that, you also had much less experience than most other crewmembers. Do you deny it?"
"No, Sir."
"You assumed command of a Federation starship for more than three months, without being qualified, and without obtaining a clearance from a qualified superior officer. Who ran Security at the time?"
"Ensign Raines, Sir. But I supervised his activities at all times."
"Well, at least you followed that rule."
Sabrina lowered her head.
"Look at me when I'm talking to you!"
Sabrina raised her head.
"Unqualified, inexperienced, physically unable to perform your duties, and yet you took upon yourself to command a starship. Is that a fair assessment of your actions?"
"Yes, Sir."
"Well, we'll have to make sure that it doesn't happen again, won't we?"
"It won't, Sir."
"No, it certainly won't."
***
She was not happy.
No, B'Elanna, daughter of Miral and John, was definitely not a happy woman. And today, he was going to know about it.
"Chancellor."
"Colonel."
Worf knew exactly why she was there. He had already been contacted by Wilkins about the O'Brien development, and had simply answered that his police would "look into it". Clearly Wilkins had not been impressed.
He hadn't told her to get in there. But she knew that's what he hoped she would do. So there she was.
"What happened to Molly O'Brien, Chancellor?"
Worf looked at her threateningly. B'Elanna wouldn't move.
"I don't know."
"Don't give me crap, Worf! You know a lot more than what you're saying, and you're going to tell me NOW!"
"You are forgetting who you are speaking to, woman! I made you what you are, and I can as easily throw you back in the dung marsh I found you in, barefoot and on your knees, scouring animal waste to find some beetles to eat!"
"At least on Kubrak I had my honor!"
She knew that it could end only two ways: a hand-to-hand fight, in which the man would beat the crap out of her, or …
"Your honor! Are you saying that there is no honor in serving me?"
"There is no honor in serving a coward, more interested in his popularity with politicians than in the search for truth! So you tell me, Chancellor, do I still have any honor left?"
That she had said without any anger in her voice, but on the determined tone Worf knew only too well.
"So you want the truth?"
"I demand it!"
Worf looked at the woman. He had found her on Kubrak, dying of hunger, without any hope of surviving more than a few weeks, having sacrificed everything she had to send her daughter to Starfleet Academy. He had given her everything she had, made her everything she was, and yet she would not compromise. He couldn't help but admire her … Klingon-ness.
"Very well. Take a seat, it's a long story."
***
Sabrina was still standing at attention, awaiting the sentencing. She wouldn't appeal, as long as she could remain in Starfleet, even if it meant starting back as an ensign.
"Well, let's see. For taking command of a starship, namely the USS Chameleon, holding it for three months and bringing it back home, along with more than a hundred fellow crewmembers, I hereby promote you to the rank of Lieutenant Full Grade."
"Huh?"
Wilkins took the hollow pip from Sabrina's collar and replaced it with a full one.
"In recognition for your remarkable leadership, meritorious conduct and acts of personal bravery, as witnessed by the enthusiastic praises earned from all your companions in arms and the dying state of health you were found in, on the Bridge, I award you the Christopher Pike Medal of Valor."
Wilkins pinned the medal on the stunned little lieutenant's chest.
"Now about your qualifications and experience. By the way, at ease, Lieutenant."
Sabrina relaxed just a little bit.
"As you may know, the Samurai hosts a few special Academy courses. I am assigning you to the Advanced Tactical and Advanced Command courses. That will take you four months, during which we will give you a light duty load at Tactical, under Commander Taitt, and a light Bridge duty load, when you will of course be in command of the Samurai. I expect you to don the proper Command uniform before you report for your first shift, tomorrow at 0800, in the Conference Room, on Deck Three. Is that clear, Lieutenant?"
Sabrina had opened her mouth and couldn't close it. Finally she articulated:
"Y … Yes, Sir."
"Excellent. Any questions?"
"Yes, Sir, if I may."
"Shoot."
"Was it you who talked to me for what seemed like several hours while I still was in the tank?"
"Yes."
"You saved my life that day, Sir. I wanted to thank you with all my heart. I won't disappoint you, Sir."
Wilkins smiled.
"I know. Dismissed."
***
Miral and Vasik were now looking at their friend like if she had stunned them both with a phaser.
"The Deletham? You were on the Deletham, Qa'Hom?"
Yirina smiled.
"Yes, ryak'na! I was on the Deletham. In fact, from 2386 to 2388, I was the Chief Engineer of the Deletham."
"But you were …"
"Young? Yes, I was. But at that time the Empire promoted strictly according to merit and necessity, and I could do the job."
"For two years you were the Chief Engineer of what may be the Alliance's mightiest battleship, and you are here, cleaning waste conduits?" Vasik said, still trying to register the thought in his mind.
"The mighty have fallen, Vasik."
"But why doesn't Engineering use you to your full potential?"
"Because they don't know my potential, Vasik. And you must not tell them."
"Why not?"
Yirina and Miral looked at each other. They knew that Vasik would not understand that to Yirina, it was a matter of honor, that she wanted to do things her way, without antagonizing anyone.
"Don't ask, Vasik, please."
Vasik looked at her. He had feelings for Yirina, but he couldn't understand her — yet.
"You could help us a lot more, Yirina."
"You still have that propulsion problem, right?"
"You know about it."
"It was the same thing on the Masada, s … Vasik. You have coupled the Mark XXI with Type VII buffers in the ternary warp field generator, and it brings the Alpha-Beta dip to 0.3 percent. All you have to do is substitute for the less efficient Type V, and not only will you reduce the dip to 0.1, but it will be possible to bring the ternary shield subharmonics in the range of the secondary ones.
"But won't that interfere with the transient synchronization?"
"No! The warp field generators' buffers are completely independent from the synchronization. All you have to replace is those, and it won't change anything to the input or the output, it just will make the coupling more coherent."
Miral and Vasik looked at each other. They hadn't understood half of what Yirina had said, but the little woman seemed so sure of herself. Vasik sat close to her and asked:
"Would you mind taking us step by step through what you just said?"
***
B'Elanna had now left the place. She was walking in the streets of the First City, trying to grasp the horror of what Worf had just told her.
If it was true then it could mean that there were …
No, no, that was impossible. And yet …
How else would they have been able to sabotage the Ch'Tang? How else would they have been able to destroy the Salan shipyards?
And why at that time exactly, after Molly O'Brien had been dropped back by B'Elanna to …
How did they know that?
She had told no one that she was bringing Molly back to Salan. In fact, she was supposed to bring her to Wilkins, but Molly had asked her to get her to the shipyards first, as she wanted to check a couple additional facts before reporting to the Admiral.
If the Shran Brothers conspiracy theory was true, then it meant …
"Today is a good day to die!"
B'Elanna was pulled out of her thoughts by the harsh voice of that huge Klingon sneering at her.
"Who are you?"
"I am your death."
"Oh yeah? I've seen you many times already, and you don't scare me."
"We'll see."
The giant made a gesture with his hand, then drew his bat'leth. B'Elanna didn't need to look behind her. She knew there were more in her back. She drew her own bat'leth and charged.
She had six assassins to fight. She was fighting like a true daughter of Miral, mercilessly, waving and slashing and waving and slashing …
"HAAAAA!"
Coming from nowhere, a seventh assassin had dug his bat'leth in the small of her back. She saw the point of the blade exiting through her chest, stunned by it and the sight of her blood now flowing out of her body, before she lost consciousness …
***
Fox and Teroth had met several times during the few days the Mogai had spent at Deep Space Nine. Fox had been informed of their next mission and had given her all the information he had.
"Well, Commander?"
"Admiral, we are through unloading the supplies. So with your permission …"
"You have it, Commander. Thanks for taking such chances to help us. And thanks for leaving us Commander Gomez."
"She is an excellent engineer, and even a better teacher. Even I have understood something in all that technobabble."
"Then there may be room for you at Starfleet Command!"
"Are you trying to bribe me, Admiral?" Teroth asked, smiling.
"No. I wouldn't dare. But I always thought that Romulans in Starfleet, especially at command levels, would be an extremely welcome addition."
"As a few seasoned Starfleet officers would be in the Romulan fleet, Admiral. Those last years have amply demonstrated that."
"I hope to live long enough to see that."
"We will, Admiral. Mark my words."
***
The Mogai had left. Rashid and Gomez were in Docking Bay One.
"So, Commander …"
"Sonya, please, Sir."
"Only if it's Malcolm."
"Agreed."
"Well, Sonya, exactly what do we have here?"
"Weapons, Malcolm. Weapons, shield generators, ammunitions, and enough of the most advanced cloaking devices anyone has ever seen — or not, if they're activated."
"For our ships?"
"The cloaks, yes. The rest, for the ships and the station. Deep Space Nine will be a fortress in a matter of weeks, Malcolm. All we need is time and lots of manpower."
"I have the manpower. I'll find the time if I have to go French kiss Jaro to get it."
***
Yirina had explained twice the modification she knew would work on the Mark XXI Warp Drive. Vasik and Miral understood it now, and they were flabbergasted — and tired: it was 0500.
Now Yirina was sleeping, as Vasik was getting ready to leave.
"Miral, what's happening?"
"About what, Dummy?"
"Yirina … Why isn't she in the Chief Engineer's boots? It can't still be because of the Cestus affair!"
"It started like that. Then it became more. Lieutenant Watson doesn't like her."
"That has nothing to do with her abilities! And Watson is not the Chief Engineer!"
"No, but he has Wisenheimer's ear. You know Old Wise. He'll listen to Watson."
Vasik looked at Miral.
"That guy Watson … Is he the reason why I see Yirina limp or otherwise feel some obvious physical discomfort sometime?"
Miral looked at him with eyes so angry Vasik jerked away.
"Listen to me, Dummy, and listen good! I told you those things in confidence, because I see what's going between the two of you and you are entitled to know something. But this is between Yirina and me!"
"Why?"
"It's a matter of honor."
The young Vulcan turned around, looked at Miral in a way she had never seen before.
"Now you listen to me, Miral. I do have feelings for her. For that very reason I will keep what you told me for myself. But what I found out on my own and you now confirmed — that this thug is actually hitting her and depriving her of any chance to be all that she can be — I will act upon, in my own way. And if you are her friend and mine, you will trust me to do what's right, even if it means losing your friendships, both of you. That's it. Good night."
Vasik left on a determined pace. Miral looked at him.
She's right. Nice butts!
***
"Say WHAT?"
"Colonel Torres has gone to Qo'noS alone, to speak with the Chancellor. After her departure, we don't know where she went."
Wilkins looked at the Klingon police officer charged with the mission of finding B'Elanna after she had not followed up on her last communication.
"Are you telling me that you LOST the Klingon liaison with the Federation, and that you can't find her?"
"We will find her."
"Yeah, I've been told things like that several times by your kind. I'm tired of being mocked. I'm going to Worf, and he better listen to me!"
***
The Klingon woman was definitely not happy with the guards the General had left her with to extract information from Molly.
They were retards. There was no other word. They didn't seem to know how to torture a human female without making her die. And it was imperative that Molly didn't die — at least not now.
"I have received new orders from the General. Where are you with Miss O'Brien's interrogation?"
"Huh …" the seemingly less gray matter-deprived one answered, "we have played with her every night, like you told us."
"And we have been very careful never to hit her more than ten times, all over her body, as you can see", the other drooling idiot added.
"She was kicking, so we broke her legs. She screamed well."
The woman threw him daggers with her eyes.
"She tastes good. Her blood tastes good too."
"But she smells bad."
The woman was getting ready to impale those two dummies each one on the other's bat'leth and make some kind of sculpture.
"Results?"
"She screams well."
"She bleeds well."
"She cries a lot."
"Her legs do not kick any more."
She roared and screamed:
"What has she told you about the ship?"
"Huh …"
Oh, that's wonderful. My head is ready to roll, and those dummies have done nothing but tickle and lick the little tramp!
"I’ll show you how to make her talk!"
She took the painstick and started to use it. Molly, who was trying to recuperate from her ordeal, began screaming and squiggling. The woman kept going for ten … twenty … thirty seconds. Then Molly simply stopped screaming and moving.
"Huh … The little one isn’t moving any more."
The guard came closer and put his face close to hers.
"Ooooh … The little one isn’t breathing any more."
February 15, 2400
Akeen and Akoval Shran were alone now. Miles O'Brien had left Salan to start the mission he had decided to lead himself: the Task Force. The twin detectives, direct descendants of the notorious Andorian Imperial Guard General Thy'lek Shran, a main partaker in the creation of the United Federation of Planets, almost 240 years earlier, were indeed the keenest investigators the Federation had.
They clearly remembered the last part of the conversation they had had with Admiral O'Brien a few days earlier.
"Something is troubling you, Admiral?"
"No, nothing."
"Admiral, please? Something is bothering you. Does it have anything to do with the investigation?"
"It's just … How come we found it?"
"Found what? This toolkit?"
"It belongs to Molly."
"It was where your daughter was supposed to be, Admiral."
"But she was not."
"No. We would have found some trace of her, like we found numerous corpses around here."
"Six, if I remember well."
"Yes, Admiral."
"Including Hars', who was right beside the toolkit."
"Could she have loaned it to him?"
"No, impossible! Something is wrong."
"What do you mean, Sir?"
"This is Molly's personal toolkit. Nothing's missing."
"So?"
"My daughter always wears that toolkit on her belt. She will take it off only because she plans to use, not just one — because she doesn't need to look inside to know where her tools are — but several tools."
"And the toolkit is full, yet alone."
"Exactly."
"And she couldn't have loaned it to, say, this Hars person?"
"Never!"
"So maybe she just had taken it out, and she was called somewhere else?"
"You don't know my daughter, Mister Shran. She would never leave her toolkit unattended, not even for five seconds. I taught her that."
***
Sabrina was so happy to finally leave the hospital. It wasn't a bad place — in fact, Starfleet had worked very hard at making it as comfortable as possible — but it was now a very bad memory for her. Now, she would know what kind of future, if any, she still had in Starfleet.
She was not optimistic. After all, independently of all the reassurances she had received, she still had broken an experimental battleship on which Starfleet Command had based all their hopes for a counterattack. Yeah, she had brought it back, but at the cost of 600 officers and crewmen.
Wilkins was behind his desk. He stopped reading and raised his head. Sabrina stood at attention and introduced herself:
"Lieutenant Junior Grade Sabrina Helena Watson, Serial Number SH-12016412, currently without assignment, reporting for duty, Sir."
Wilkins looked at her.
"Wrong, wrong, wrong, wrong!"
"Sir?"
"Is this some kind of joke? Or are you trying to make me puke?"
Sabrina started panicking.
"Sir?"
"Is that the last word you will ever utter?"
"I'm sorry, Sir, I just … I don't understand."
"You better be sorry! You come in here, on my ship, the Federation's Beta Command's flagship, and you dare to introduce yourself by giving me a rank which is not yours anymore, wearing an uniform you shouldn't be allowed to wear any longer, and to crown it all, you have the gall to ask for duties?"
Sabrina was now in full panic mode.
"I'm sorry, Sir, I've been told to report to you as soon as I would come out of the hospital. I was hoping for an assignment, but of course, I'm ready to pay for my … actions."
"Your actions? Let's talk about your actions! Let's start by reading the list, shall we?"
***
The alert was over on the Yorktown.
Patrolling close to occupied Romulan space, the proud starship had been attacked by two squads of Jem'Hadar fighters. Engineering had been abuzz for hours, trying to repair all kinds of damages all around. Even Yirina had been put to contribution, and she had demonstrated quite some flair, particularly when the starboard phaser matrix had collapsed, and she had repaired it in thirty seconds flat.
But in the official log, Lieutenant Jethro Watson was the genius all behind it. As for Yirina, she had received a sneaky punch in the ribs as her reward for "not minding her own business".
Now Yirina and Miral were in their quarters. Yirina had been transferred in Miral's quarters, since they seemed to be such good friends — "twisted alien bosom buddies", like Watson said.
But in reality, the diminutive Romulan was having quite different plans. And tonight, the object of those plans, Lieutenant Junior Grade Vasik, propulsion specialist, was with the two friends.
"From what I hear, the official Engineering log is somewhat erroneous, Yirina. The starboard phasers were repaired by you, weren't they?"
Yirina smiled. That wasn't the voice or the look of a cold, logical, unconcerned Vulcan. It was a friend speaking.
"It wasn't that hard, Vasik."
"Not that hard? I can't for the life of me figure out what you did! What made you think of depolarizing the alpha photon buffers instead of re-polarizing them?"
"It seemed the logical thing to do."
"But you seemed to do it without even thinking about it", Miral intervened. "I was there, I saw it all! Where did it come from?"
"I've studied those buffers. I …"
"I studied them too, Yirina. Nowhere in any Starfleet report or paper is it even suggested that depolarization could be done directly, without first resetting the power matrix!"
Yirina looked at both of her friends. Either she would find a way to convince them that it was all a fluke, or …
"I didn't really think of how to do it. I just thought of what had to be done, and I tried the most direct approach."
"But how did you know that the buffers were the problem? Everyone was trying to realign the matter-antimatter flux dispensers! THAT was the logical way to go!"
"I didn't think of that."
"You didn't think of the flux dispensers, but you went right to the buffers, took them out the right way, exactly in the right order, depolarized them in about ten seconds, and put them back the right way, exactly in the right order again, and all by sheer luck? Don't take me for a fool, ryak'na. Where did you learn how to do that?"
They had found her out. She might as well tell them.
"That's the way I did it on the Deletham."
***
The Shran Brothers had been introduced to Wilkins, B'Elanna and Tomalak. They were ready to report their conclusions.
"Admiral, Colonel, Proconsul", Akeen began, "we will report our conclusions as briefly and as clearly as possible. First: it was not an accident, contrary to what has been suggested earlier. It was sabotage. The objective of the operation, however, may not be quite as clear-cut."
"I knew it! Those Klingons can never tell the truth when their 'honor' is involved!" Tomalak sneered.
B'Elanna didn't react. She kept peering at Akeen thoroughly.
"It is not yet established that the operation has an exclusively Klingon origin, Proconsul", Akoval answered.
"I'm still betting on the Children of Grethor", B'Elanna mumbled.
"At this time, so would we, Colonel", Akoval confirmed. "But we need more than intuition or even logic before we redirect our investigation. Besides, there is … something else."
"What?" Wilkins said.
"We have every reason to believe that, at the time of the explosion, Lieutenant O'Brien was nowhere in the Salan shipyards, where she was assumed to be."
"WHAT?" B'Elanna screamed. "But I have …"
"I do not doubt your word, Colonel. Besides, the logs confirm Lieutenant O'Brien's return. But she was not there when the explosion occurred."
"Ha! A Federation trick!"
"Tomalak, please!" Wilkins answered. "Your conclusions?"
"It's very strange that this disappearance happened right after her unsuccessful attempt to talk to the High Council, Admiral. According to Colonel Torres, several members of the Council clearly wanted her to shut up. We have to wonder if they really were not interested, or …"
"If they wanted to be the only ones to know!"
"Know what, Colonel?"
"What she found out, and who she told it to, of course!"
"Did she tell you?"
"Some of it. It all points to the Children of Grethor."
"Are you sure?"
"Not yet, but I'm going to get you some answers, Admiral. I'll get them if I have to spank the son of a bitch with his own arm!"
And B'Elanna stormed out of Wilkins's office, clearly determined to keep the word she had just given.
***
Sabrina was still at attention, and her heart was beating so fast she was expecting her chest to explode at any time. Wilkins was standing up too, now right in front of her, getting ready to read from a PADD.
"I have here the reports from all the Chameleon's survivors, except yours."
"Sorry, Sir. They didn't let me get access to a PADD until …"
"Until you actually learned to use one without feeling anything with your fingers, I know."
"Yes, Sir."
"But now you know?"
"I manage, Sir."
"Then I expect this report on my desk by tomorrow at 0800. In the meantime, I also have the computer logs, those which could be salvaged anyway. About five months ago, the Chameleon was fired upon by Jem'Hadar battleships, which destroyed the Bridge, most of Engineering, Sickbay, and about half of the rest of the ship. Is that right?"
"Yes, Sir."
"As there was no survivor from the Senior Staff, you took on yourself to assume command, although technically not only are you not qualified for that, you also had much less experience than most other crewmembers. Do you deny it?"
"No, Sir."
"You assumed command of a Federation starship for more than three months, without being qualified, and without obtaining a clearance from a qualified superior officer. Who ran Security at the time?"
"Ensign Raines, Sir. But I supervised his activities at all times."
"Well, at least you followed that rule."
Sabrina lowered her head.
"Look at me when I'm talking to you!"
Sabrina raised her head.
"Unqualified, inexperienced, physically unable to perform your duties, and yet you took upon yourself to command a starship. Is that a fair assessment of your actions?"
"Yes, Sir."
"Well, we'll have to make sure that it doesn't happen again, won't we?"
"It won't, Sir."
"No, it certainly won't."
***
She was not happy.
No, B'Elanna, daughter of Miral and John, was definitely not a happy woman. And today, he was going to know about it.
"Chancellor."
"Colonel."
Worf knew exactly why she was there. He had already been contacted by Wilkins about the O'Brien development, and had simply answered that his police would "look into it". Clearly Wilkins had not been impressed.
He hadn't told her to get in there. But she knew that's what he hoped she would do. So there she was.
"What happened to Molly O'Brien, Chancellor?"
Worf looked at her threateningly. B'Elanna wouldn't move.
"I don't know."
"Don't give me crap, Worf! You know a lot more than what you're saying, and you're going to tell me NOW!"
"You are forgetting who you are speaking to, woman! I made you what you are, and I can as easily throw you back in the dung marsh I found you in, barefoot and on your knees, scouring animal waste to find some beetles to eat!"
"At least on Kubrak I had my honor!"
She knew that it could end only two ways: a hand-to-hand fight, in which the man would beat the crap out of her, or …
"Your honor! Are you saying that there is no honor in serving me?"
"There is no honor in serving a coward, more interested in his popularity with politicians than in the search for truth! So you tell me, Chancellor, do I still have any honor left?"
That she had said without any anger in her voice, but on the determined tone Worf knew only too well.
"So you want the truth?"
"I demand it!"
Worf looked at the woman. He had found her on Kubrak, dying of hunger, without any hope of surviving more than a few weeks, having sacrificed everything she had to send her daughter to Starfleet Academy. He had given her everything she had, made her everything she was, and yet she would not compromise. He couldn't help but admire her … Klingon-ness.
"Very well. Take a seat, it's a long story."
***
Sabrina was still standing at attention, awaiting the sentencing. She wouldn't appeal, as long as she could remain in Starfleet, even if it meant starting back as an ensign.
"Well, let's see. For taking command of a starship, namely the USS Chameleon, holding it for three months and bringing it back home, along with more than a hundred fellow crewmembers, I hereby promote you to the rank of Lieutenant Full Grade."
"Huh?"
Wilkins took the hollow pip from Sabrina's collar and replaced it with a full one.
"In recognition for your remarkable leadership, meritorious conduct and acts of personal bravery, as witnessed by the enthusiastic praises earned from all your companions in arms and the dying state of health you were found in, on the Bridge, I award you the Christopher Pike Medal of Valor."
Wilkins pinned the medal on the stunned little lieutenant's chest.
"Now about your qualifications and experience. By the way, at ease, Lieutenant."
Sabrina relaxed just a little bit.
"As you may know, the Samurai hosts a few special Academy courses. I am assigning you to the Advanced Tactical and Advanced Command courses. That will take you four months, during which we will give you a light duty load at Tactical, under Commander Taitt, and a light Bridge duty load, when you will of course be in command of the Samurai. I expect you to don the proper Command uniform before you report for your first shift, tomorrow at 0800, in the Conference Room, on Deck Three. Is that clear, Lieutenant?"
Sabrina had opened her mouth and couldn't close it. Finally she articulated:
"Y … Yes, Sir."
"Excellent. Any questions?"
"Yes, Sir, if I may."
"Shoot."
"Was it you who talked to me for what seemed like several hours while I still was in the tank?"
"Yes."
"You saved my life that day, Sir. I wanted to thank you with all my heart. I won't disappoint you, Sir."
Wilkins smiled.
"I know. Dismissed."
***
Miral and Vasik were now looking at their friend like if she had stunned them both with a phaser.
"The Deletham? You were on the Deletham, Qa'Hom?"
Yirina smiled.
"Yes, ryak'na! I was on the Deletham. In fact, from 2386 to 2388, I was the Chief Engineer of the Deletham."
"But you were …"
"Young? Yes, I was. But at that time the Empire promoted strictly according to merit and necessity, and I could do the job."
"For two years you were the Chief Engineer of what may be the Alliance's mightiest battleship, and you are here, cleaning waste conduits?" Vasik said, still trying to register the thought in his mind.
"The mighty have fallen, Vasik."
"But why doesn't Engineering use you to your full potential?"
"Because they don't know my potential, Vasik. And you must not tell them."
"Why not?"
Yirina and Miral looked at each other. They knew that Vasik would not understand that to Yirina, it was a matter of honor, that she wanted to do things her way, without antagonizing anyone.
"Don't ask, Vasik, please."
Vasik looked at her. He had feelings for Yirina, but he couldn't understand her — yet.
"You could help us a lot more, Yirina."
"You still have that propulsion problem, right?"
"You know about it."
"It was the same thing on the Masada, s … Vasik. You have coupled the Mark XXI with Type VII buffers in the ternary warp field generator, and it brings the Alpha-Beta dip to 0.3 percent. All you have to do is substitute for the less efficient Type V, and not only will you reduce the dip to 0.1, but it will be possible to bring the ternary shield subharmonics in the range of the secondary ones.
"But won't that interfere with the transient synchronization?"
"No! The warp field generators' buffers are completely independent from the synchronization. All you have to replace is those, and it won't change anything to the input or the output, it just will make the coupling more coherent."
Miral and Vasik looked at each other. They hadn't understood half of what Yirina had said, but the little woman seemed so sure of herself. Vasik sat close to her and asked:
"Would you mind taking us step by step through what you just said?"
***
B'Elanna had now left the place. She was walking in the streets of the First City, trying to grasp the horror of what Worf had just told her.
If it was true then it could mean that there were …
No, no, that was impossible. And yet …
How else would they have been able to sabotage the Ch'Tang? How else would they have been able to destroy the Salan shipyards?
And why at that time exactly, after Molly O'Brien had been dropped back by B'Elanna to …
How did they know that?
She had told no one that she was bringing Molly back to Salan. In fact, she was supposed to bring her to Wilkins, but Molly had asked her to get her to the shipyards first, as she wanted to check a couple additional facts before reporting to the Admiral.
If the Shran Brothers conspiracy theory was true, then it meant …
"Today is a good day to die!"
B'Elanna was pulled out of her thoughts by the harsh voice of that huge Klingon sneering at her.
"Who are you?"
"I am your death."
"Oh yeah? I've seen you many times already, and you don't scare me."
"We'll see."
The giant made a gesture with his hand, then drew his bat'leth. B'Elanna didn't need to look behind her. She knew there were more in her back. She drew her own bat'leth and charged.
She had six assassins to fight. She was fighting like a true daughter of Miral, mercilessly, waving and slashing and waving and slashing …
"HAAAAA!"
Coming from nowhere, a seventh assassin had dug his bat'leth in the small of her back. She saw the point of the blade exiting through her chest, stunned by it and the sight of her blood now flowing out of her body, before she lost consciousness …
***
Fox and Teroth had met several times during the few days the Mogai had spent at Deep Space Nine. Fox had been informed of their next mission and had given her all the information he had.
"Well, Commander?"
"Admiral, we are through unloading the supplies. So with your permission …"
"You have it, Commander. Thanks for taking such chances to help us. And thanks for leaving us Commander Gomez."
"She is an excellent engineer, and even a better teacher. Even I have understood something in all that technobabble."
"Then there may be room for you at Starfleet Command!"
"Are you trying to bribe me, Admiral?" Teroth asked, smiling.
"No. I wouldn't dare. But I always thought that Romulans in Starfleet, especially at command levels, would be an extremely welcome addition."
"As a few seasoned Starfleet officers would be in the Romulan fleet, Admiral. Those last years have amply demonstrated that."
"I hope to live long enough to see that."
"We will, Admiral. Mark my words."
***
The Mogai had left. Rashid and Gomez were in Docking Bay One.
"So, Commander …"
"Sonya, please, Sir."
"Only if it's Malcolm."
"Agreed."
"Well, Sonya, exactly what do we have here?"
"Weapons, Malcolm. Weapons, shield generators, ammunitions, and enough of the most advanced cloaking devices anyone has ever seen — or not, if they're activated."
"For our ships?"
"The cloaks, yes. The rest, for the ships and the station. Deep Space Nine will be a fortress in a matter of weeks, Malcolm. All we need is time and lots of manpower."
"I have the manpower. I'll find the time if I have to go French kiss Jaro to get it."
***
Yirina had explained twice the modification she knew would work on the Mark XXI Warp Drive. Vasik and Miral understood it now, and they were flabbergasted — and tired: it was 0500.
Now Yirina was sleeping, as Vasik was getting ready to leave.
"Miral, what's happening?"
"About what, Dummy?"
"Yirina … Why isn't she in the Chief Engineer's boots? It can't still be because of the Cestus affair!"
"It started like that. Then it became more. Lieutenant Watson doesn't like her."
"That has nothing to do with her abilities! And Watson is not the Chief Engineer!"
"No, but he has Wisenheimer's ear. You know Old Wise. He'll listen to Watson."
Vasik looked at Miral.
"That guy Watson … Is he the reason why I see Yirina limp or otherwise feel some obvious physical discomfort sometime?"
Miral looked at him with eyes so angry Vasik jerked away.
"Listen to me, Dummy, and listen good! I told you those things in confidence, because I see what's going between the two of you and you are entitled to know something. But this is between Yirina and me!"
"Why?"
"It's a matter of honor."
The young Vulcan turned around, looked at Miral in a way she had never seen before.
"Now you listen to me, Miral. I do have feelings for her. For that very reason I will keep what you told me for myself. But what I found out on my own and you now confirmed — that this thug is actually hitting her and depriving her of any chance to be all that she can be — I will act upon, in my own way. And if you are her friend and mine, you will trust me to do what's right, even if it means losing your friendships, both of you. That's it. Good night."
Vasik left on a determined pace. Miral looked at him.
She's right. Nice butts!
***
"Say WHAT?"
"Colonel Torres has gone to Qo'noS alone, to speak with the Chancellor. After her departure, we don't know where she went."
Wilkins looked at the Klingon police officer charged with the mission of finding B'Elanna after she had not followed up on her last communication.
"Are you telling me that you LOST the Klingon liaison with the Federation, and that you can't find her?"
"We will find her."
"Yeah, I've been told things like that several times by your kind. I'm tired of being mocked. I'm going to Worf, and he better listen to me!"
***
The Klingon woman was definitely not happy with the guards the General had left her with to extract information from Molly.
They were retards. There was no other word. They didn't seem to know how to torture a human female without making her die. And it was imperative that Molly didn't die — at least not now.
"I have received new orders from the General. Where are you with Miss O'Brien's interrogation?"
"Huh …" the seemingly less gray matter-deprived one answered, "we have played with her every night, like you told us."
"And we have been very careful never to hit her more than ten times, all over her body, as you can see", the other drooling idiot added.
"She was kicking, so we broke her legs. She screamed well."
The woman threw him daggers with her eyes.
"She tastes good. Her blood tastes good too."
"But she smells bad."
The woman was getting ready to impale those two dummies each one on the other's bat'leth and make some kind of sculpture.
"Results?"
"She screams well."
"She bleeds well."
"She cries a lot."
"Her legs do not kick any more."
She roared and screamed:
"What has she told you about the ship?"
"Huh …"
Oh, that's wonderful. My head is ready to roll, and those dummies have done nothing but tickle and lick the little tramp!
"I’ll show you how to make her talk!"
She took the painstick and started to use it. Molly, who was trying to recuperate from her ordeal, began screaming and squiggling. The woman kept going for ten … twenty … thirty seconds. Then Molly simply stopped screaming and moving.
"Huh … The little one isn’t moving any more."
The guard came closer and put his face close to hers.
"Ooooh … The little one isn’t breathing any more."
STAR TREK: KHITOMER
CHAPTER SEVEN
February 16, 2400
The Mogai was now on the second part of her mission.
"Lovok, you have been wondering what we were doing here, I suppose?"
"Here" was the Gamma Quadrant. Teroth had ordered the Mogai through the Wormhole, even if it was heavily guarded by the Jem'Hadars. The phase-cloaked ship had gone through the huge fleets at both ends of the vortex without being detected.
"It's my current understanding that we are going to finish the Chameleon's mission and collect information on the Dominion, Commander."
"That's part of it, Lovok. But the data the Chameleon brought back, thanks to that little lieutenant's quasi-Romulan grit, contained a few very interesting facts, which we are going to check on and try to use to our benefit."
"Like?"
"For instance, although the tactical logs are very fragmentary, it seems that the Dominion now has much more dreadnoughts than we thought they had."
"How many?"
"We thought they had about three thousands. The fact that about that number is now in the Bajoran Sector and we haven't seen any anywhere else for weeks seemed to support that conjecture. But the Chameleon seems to have detected tens of thousands of those — not in Dominion's space though."
"Hmm."
"And then there is that story about the race which doesn't seem willing to yield to the Founders, and the Founders don't seem able to force them to. Starfleet Command wishes us to find a way to make contact."
"Oh."
Teroth smiled.
"Yes, Lovok. Starfleet is so desperate that now they're sending Romulans to negotiate alliances. How the mighty have fallen, hmm?"
"We owe them that."
"Of course we do. But don't tell me that the irony doesn't warm up your heart, at least a little bit."
"I would appreciate it more if we were not together on the losing side currently, Commander."
Teroth sighed.
"I know what you mean. Well, then let's make our share to assure that the dice will roll again, in our favor this time!"
"The dice?"
"Human expression. I believe it's a reference to luck."
"We're Romulans. We don't need luck."
"Of course not. But if I had some, I'd keep it in a box — just in case."
***
Kai Onara was known as an untraditional woman.
Some said that was why she had been elected. Her predecessor, Kai Rax, was an austere man, who had more interest for the rules than for the people he ruled. During the 13 years he had served as the Kai, things had not been very fun for the Bajorans.
Kai Onara was a petite, very petite woman in her forties, who laughed more often than she looked the kind of dead serious Rax had used them to, and loved her people and the Prophets. Onara had been the one who had broken with tradition by visiting Cardassia a few weeks before the Borg destroyed it, bringing back the last three Orbs of the Prophets as a gesture of goodwill from the Cardassians.
And now, the Kai had personally invited the USS Valiant to come and pick her up for a visit to Deep Space Nine.
Even better, she had brought a surprise to Kira.
"Pohl?"
"Nerys?"
***
Onara had walked to Fox and shaken his hand.
"Admiral, what a pleasure! You look a lot like the Emissary, if I may say so!"
"Wasn't the Captain a black man?"
"Yes, of course. I meant the pose, the stature, the dignity. I met the Emissary when I was fourteen, and I have never forgotten."
"Excuse me, Sir."
"Yes … ?"
"I'm sorry to bother you, but … tomorrow, after evening services in the Temple … we're having my daughter's ih'tanu ceremony. She's turning fourteen."
"Happy Birthday."
"We were wondering if there was any chance you could come and give her your blessing. It would mean so much to us."
"I'd be happy to."
"Thank you, Emissary."
"You're welcome."
***
Yirina was sleeping. Miral and Vasik were walking along the Yorktown's corridors, and Vasik was NOT in a good mood.
"He beat her again, didn't he?"
"Yeah."
Vasik tried not to show it, but he was MAD!
"I want to protect her, Miral. I understand that she doesn't want to cause problems, but hasn't she paid more than her share for making peace with her conscience?"
"She doesn't think so."
Vasik turned to Miral and looked at her right in her eyes.
"Did you fully understand what she told us yesterday?"
"I had to spend a few hours studying Advanced Quantum Mechanics, but yeah, I think I got it."
"Could you explain it to Old Wise?"
"No. Could you?"
"Not without having him study Advanced Quantum Mechanics and Photon Subharmonics Resonance for a few days first, I couldn't."
"True. Why are you asking?"
"Wise thinks Yirina is, like you say, a dummy. If she explained that to him, he would dismiss her. But he would listen to you."
"Yeah, but those are not mine to discuss."
"I know. But what if, once Old Wise has studied it, and recognized the validity of it …"
Miral smiled. Yes, it was a good idea!
"What if we told him that Yirina taught us all that?"
"Exactly!"
Miral punched her friend's arm. Vasik winced. Miral was much stronger than she looked.
"Well, Dummy, there is something in that green head of yours after all!"
Before Vasik could answer, a security officer came to them.
"Ensign Paris, Commander Hertzler wishes to see you at once."
***
Kira remembered. She was with Sisko the day when that father had approached him so timidly to make his request. She was so sure he would say no. But he had fought hard that day to find out whom of Akorem or him was the true Emissary, and finally that day he had accepted that he was in fact the One the Prophets still called "The Sisko".
And now Onara had brought with her Vedek Kira.
Kira Pohl was Nerys' younger brother by three years. For so long she hadn't met him, for so long they had disagreed on their way of life, him as a cleric, her as a resistant. And today, today at last, they had hugged and kissed and made peace.
Kai Onara was truly the real successor of Opaka.
And now she was at Quark's.
***
"Dabo!"
"Did I win?"
"Yes! Three strips of gold-plated latinum!"
"How interesting!"
"Would you like to continue?"
"Oh no, Mister Quark. I tried just to better understand the game, but personally, I don't like to play for latinum. Still, you will forward my gains to the War Orphans Fund, won't you?"
Quark typed on his PADD.
"Done!"
"Thank you, Mister Quark. Now, I didn't come here only to play Dabo. I would like to have a business conversation with you."
"A … business conversation?"
"Yes, Mister Quark! Bajorans do business too, you know!"
"But … the Kai?"
"As long as my earnings are spent for the greater good, I doubt that the Prophets will object. What do you think?"
"I'm all ears!"
***
Wilkins had gone to Troi. Troi had gone to Worf. Now Wilkins was telling Worf what he thought of him, and the Chancellor didn't like it.
"She was my Liaison Officer with you, Worf! How could she leave without being escorted?"
"She didn't ask for one."
"She didn't ASK? Do you think you would need to ASK for an armed escort if you came aboard the Samurai? My best security officers would be all around you, Worf!"
"Those things happen."
"Yes, in an honor-less society! Not here! Or does it?"
"What do you mean?"
"I mean why is your police insisting that the Salan explosion was an accident, when it was clearly an act of sabotage? Who tells them to lie to us? Is it you?"
"Do you doubt my word?"
"Right now, the only Klingon I trust is that woman you let assassinate in the yards of your damn Hall, Worf! She's the only one who could talk to me about honor and make me listen!"
"You seem to forget …"
"I'm not forgetting anything! I'd rather take my ships and die with honor fighting the Dominion and the Borg than hide here with an honor-less people who has forgotten the Rules of Kahless!"
Worf jumped on his feet, mad as hell. Wilkins stood on guard as the giant roared and ran to him.
***
"Well, Admiral, you should have known better than engage in hand-to-hand combat with a Klingon!"
"Shut up and repair me, Doctor."
Rose McCoy was not going to be impressed by her patient. In her family, they had been physicians for several generations now, and they said their say whether their patient liked it or not.
"Oh, I'll repair you all right. What are you going to fight next, a drunk Nausicaan? And what if that one had shoved his meqleH right in your heart, hmm?"
"I wasn't armed, he wouldn't have."
"Yes, of course, the damned Klingon honor. And have you forgotten the blood?"
Before Wilkins could answer, Forsythe and Dvorak came in.
"Leo, are you mad? Fighting an adult Klingon hand-to-hand?"
"You know it's not a problem for me, Bill."
"You still have a human body, Leo!"
"Yeah, and Worf still has a more or less Klingon face. I assure you that his wife is not happy with him right now …"
"Why did you fight him, Admiral?" Dvorak asked.
"Because now I know what B'Elanna went to find out. I'll explain later. Doc, will you finish sewing me up?"
"Tshhh …" McCoy replied.
***
Aboard the Samurai, Annie and Sabrina had had the good surprise of finding out, not only that they were both part of the crew, but also that they had been assigned to the Advanced Command course together.
So Annie had requested that Sabrina had quarters close to hers, and the two girls were now inseparable.
It wasn't just a matter of reviewing their notes together, however. Sabrina had some experience of command, having headed the Chameleon for months, and Annie was glad to listen to her comments. And since Sabrina had the experience of security aboard a starship built quite differently from every previous Starfleet vessel, she could benefit of her experience in that area too.
In exchange, Annie offered her experience as a touch-deprived young woman.
"Who taught you, Annie?"
"What? To live without feeling?"
"Yeah."
"I was invited aboard the Enterprise, and there I met Commander Data — well, B-4 really, but Captain Picard called him Data. He didn't feel anything either."
"But he was used to it."
"And I was not, Sabrina. He showed me how to use the rest of my senses, how to better feel through — smell, mostly. Smell is essential to me, as much as sight and hearing. You'll learn. And, most importantly, he helped me understand that I was still myself, not some kind of robot."
"I don't think you're a robot."
"What about you?"
"Huh?"
"Don't tell me that you haven't thought about being a robot, or a drone. I went through that."
"It's … better now."
"You're a woman, Sabrina. Beautiful, young, vibrant."
"But cold."
"Not to me."
"You can't feel me. I can't feel you."
"We can feel each other, Sabrina."
"How?"
"We can kiss."
***
Miral was standing at attention. John Hertzler was sitting behind his desk. Counselor T'Kal, at his side, was looking at her. T'Kal was a small, almost as small as Miral, Vulcan. She had been promoted Lieutenant because, well, Starfleet needed counselors, but she was more like an apprentice, in a situation not much different from the one Ezri Dax had been when she had arrived on Deep Space Nine: inexperienced, unsure of herself, but determined to serve.
Hertzler, being the giant he was, decided to stay in his chair, in order to not overbear Miral. This was not the time.
"Ensign, we have received news from the Klingon homeworld."
Miral gulped. For Hertzler to make that sorry face and having T'Kal at his side, he who didn't really seem to appreciate counselors as a rule, could only mean one thing.
"Yes, Sir."
"The Klingon News Network has announced yesterday the death of the Federation Liaison with the Klingon High Council, Colonel B'Elanna Torres."
Miral staggered. T'Kal came to her, held her arm. Miral rejected the help. She would stand up, without any help. She was a Klingon — at least part of her was.
"How did it happen?" she asked in a broken voice.
"It seems she was attacked outside the High Council's Building. Witnesses mentioned any number between six and ten assailants. Your mother fought a good fight, but … someone impaled her in the back with a bat'leth."
Miral was fighting to refrain from crying. She was not a Klingon. She did have tear ducts, and they would overflow soon. T'Kal saw it, put her hand on Miral's shoulder this time. Miral turned to her, hugged her and started crying.
Hertzler didn't know what to say, so he decided to just shut the hell up and let the counselor do her job.
It would always be time in a few minutes to tell Miral that the Yorktown was supposed to return to Khitomer soon anyway and that Captain Benteen had decided that now was as good a time as any …
***
Miles O'Brien was still a broken man. Having lost his son, having seen his wife go deeper into madness, and now having lost his daughter, he was alone once again, after having known the bliss of a loving family …
But Starfleet needed him. That damn Engineer Task Force wouldn't build itself, and with B'Elanna gone now, he would have to do the job alone.
"Admiral, welcome aboard the Edinburgh. I'm Samuel Lavelle."
"I remember you, Captain. You served on the Enterprise, didn't you?"
"I had that honor, Sir. I remember you too, of course, but I would never have thought …"
"I never forget a face, Captain. We met only for a few days, just before I left for DS9, but … you were talking with Ensign Sito."
"Yes, Sir."
"So, you have candidates for the Task Force on this dump?"
Lavelle smiled. The Edinburgh had been O'Brien's special baby years earlier, at Utopia Planitia. One of the first of the new Defiant-II Class, it had received "special attention" from him.
"Two, Admiral. Both are Romulans."
"Excellent. I'll meet them now."
"As you wish, Sir."
***
Galan Ralaa and Nn'khiy Maec were young. Ralaa wasn't particularly strapping for a male, and Maec wasn't particularly pretty for a female, but they both knew their way around an Engineering room.
Only something seemed wrong.
"Sir?"
O'Brien turned around.
"Yes, Lieutenant?"
"You already know, don't you?"
"I know that your Captain made me come here to look at those two. They're very good, but they're not what I'm looking for."
"I know. I recommended them."
O'Brien looked at the woman.
"You knew they weren't good enough, yet you recommended them?"
"Yes, Sir. Please give me two minutes and you will understand why."
***
Kai Onara had talked with Quark for more than an hour. Quark was stunned. He had immediately called his brother Rom.
Leeta had answered.
"Where is Rom?"
"My husband is presiding a meeting of the Admiralty, Quark. He cannot be bothered."
"It's about an incredible business proposal. I have …"
"Quark, there are Dominion ships all around Ferenginar, and not a day goes by without us meeting Borg Cubes. Every resource on the homeworld has been devoted to our defense, and even then we have no idea of what we will do if they attack. It's no time for business!"
Quark looked at his sister-in-law. She was twenty-five years older than when she was one of his Dabo girls and yet … She was still a gorgeous youngish woman. Only Leeta was now an accomplished politician and stateswoman, who had served as ambassador to Bajor from 2388 to 2398, and had left out of disdain for Jaro.
"I had no idea things were so bad."
Leeta calmed down.
"I'm sorry, Quark. We're all on pins and needles here. There are even discussions of sending an envoy to the Dominion, to sign some pact of non-aggression. But frankly, it's hard to imagine why they would be interested, when fifty of their dreadnoughts could wipe us out without problem."
"Don't worry, Leeta. Tell Rom I … Tell him I love him. Quark out."
***
While Quark was talking to Leeta, another communication had reached Deep Space Nine, and that one was much less cordial.
"I can't imagine how you would jeopardize everything I did for our people by visiting that wretched place, Eminence!"
"First Minister, I consider it my mission to try to find a peaceful solution to the current conflict between Bajor and the Federation. To that end, I plan to serve as an intermediary …"
"NO! You are coming back here at once!"
The Kai couldn't believe what she had just heard.
"You seem to forget who you are speaking to, First Minister."
"I haven't forgotten anything! I allowed you to become Kai, and I can have you thrown out of the Vedek Assembly in a heartbeat! Don't underestimate my power, and have no doubt that I will use it!"
"You have no power over the Vedek Assembly!"
"If you keep acting treacherously and consorting with the enemy, I will have no choice than to proceed, should I dissolve the Vedek Assembly to that end!"
"In that case, First Minister, you will find me on your way, fighting you at every corner! I am sure that I will find good teachers here for this little guerilla you're proposing!"
"Very well! Follow the news then! I'll make sure that they are fed to the station from now on!"
***
The Mogai had now reached the Grand Chasm.
"So this is it", Teroth said.
"Yes, Commander."
They were both staring at a giant screen, representing a detailed chart of the known Gamma Quadrant, with several enhancements on the other side of the Grand Chasm, that huge, hundreds of light-years long area known for containing an unusual density of quantum filaments. It was avoided by all ships and had been enforced by the powers behind it as a kind of equivalent of the now defunct Neutral Zone between them and the rest of the galaxy.
"So it was Jean-Luc Picard who named that place?"
"Yes, Commander."
"So what do we know of them, Lovok?"
"The Qalans and the Narags are two races living at the most extreme end of the Gamma Quadrant. About 1700 years ago, they were a single race, the Qas.
"They were visited by an apparently benevolent race who wanted in fact to obtain guinea pigs for their genetic experiments. The newcomers abducted thousands of unsuspecting Qas. They discovered that the Qas had in fact a double DNA pool. They experimented until they actually separated both sets into separate species. Then, after countless experiments, they released them to their home planet.
"But something turned horribly wrong as the two half-races showed to be deadly to the Qas, who started falling like flies. After the complete eradication of the mother race, they started to wonder what effect they would have on each other. They didn't want to know, and they shared in two equal parts the gigantic system the Qas occupied.
"Both societies evolved as extremely isolationist to the point of extreme violence at the smallest manifestation of any kind of threat to their isolationism. Only they won't just, like others, defend themselves. They'll bring the war to their apparent enemies' planet."
Teroth sighed.
"And Starfleet expects us to make allies of those guys?"
"Mostly the Qalans. Picard established a very limited first contact with them sixteen years ago."
"Well, let's see if we can go a few steps further …"
***
"Penny for your thoughts, honey?"
Sabrina raised her eyes. Annie was radiant, finally out of the sonic shower, wearing only her white bathrobe, open all the way down on her fascinating body. Not that Sabrina was wearing anything more, but her robe at least was closed and she was sitting down.
"I'm perplexed, Annie."
Annie knew this was serious. She asked:
"What is it? And why are you still studying those PADDs when we should be in bed studying each other?"
"In Tactical this afternoon, the teacher talked about Jem'Hadar tactics."
"Yeah?"
"He said that as a general rule, the Jem'Hadars will attack in waves of three, one wave firing, then the next, until the enemy is either destroyed or boarded."
"So?"
"He said that they almost never depart from that tactic, unless they are engaged in a big battle, in which case they act more or less individually."
"And that's not it?"
"That's not how I remember the attack on the Chameleon."
Annie sat down with her friend, took her hand in hers. None of them could feel anything, but it made them feel good inside anyway.
"You'll keep having nightmares about it for a long time, Sabrina. It might help to talk about it."
"That's part of why I asked you to sleep with me. I … don't want to wake up alone, with that nightmare once more in my head."
"I know. We're there for each other, remember? You help me with my nightmares, I help you with yours."
"How did you cope for all those years, Annie?"
"The nightmares, you mean? I screamed to the top of my lungs. I still do."
"Not with me."
"But when I hug you, you feel it in your bones, don't you?"
"I still feel the broken rib."
"And yet you still sleep with me."
"I love you, Annie. I sleep with you because … It does you good, and to me too, even if we feel each other only when we kiss."
Annie put her hand on Sabrina's cheek.
"Yeah, I know. I love you too, Sabrina. Tell me what the problem is with the tactical lesson."
Sabrina knew. Annie wasn't too strong at talking about her feelings.
"It's just … the Jem'Hadars didn't attack the Chameleon that way at all."
"How did they then?"
***
"OUCH!"
"Come on, Worf, don't be a baby!"
"I'M NOT A BABY!"
"What would the High Council think if they saw you right now?"
It was true. If Wilkins was looking like a man hit by a shuttle at impulse, Worf looked more like a torpedo would have exploded in his face. Of course, some Klingons bled more easily than some humans.
"You should see what I did to him!"
"I did, my love. I was not impressed."
"WHAT?"
"You're getting softer with age, Worf. There was a time when no human could resist you. But I guess that all good things …"
"That one has the Spirit of Kahless in him, Deanna! I have never seen a human, and very few Klingons, fight like that one does! OUCH!"
"He's not that big, and he doesn't look that strong."
"But it's true what they say: He has a Klingon heart — and a Romulan mind."
"So you told him?"
"Most of it."
***
Annie and Sabrina had worked for hours.
They had spent hours building a simulation, based on every bit of data extracted from the Chameleon and every bit of memory Sabrina had added to the mix. There it was, ready for presentation. To whom, they didn't know yet. But they would worry about that later.
Now the two friends were naked in bed, hugging each other, trying to feel something — anything besides their lips …
CHAPTER SEVEN
February 16, 2400
The Mogai was now on the second part of her mission.
"Lovok, you have been wondering what we were doing here, I suppose?"
"Here" was the Gamma Quadrant. Teroth had ordered the Mogai through the Wormhole, even if it was heavily guarded by the Jem'Hadars. The phase-cloaked ship had gone through the huge fleets at both ends of the vortex without being detected.
"It's my current understanding that we are going to finish the Chameleon's mission and collect information on the Dominion, Commander."
"That's part of it, Lovok. But the data the Chameleon brought back, thanks to that little lieutenant's quasi-Romulan grit, contained a few very interesting facts, which we are going to check on and try to use to our benefit."
"Like?"
"For instance, although the tactical logs are very fragmentary, it seems that the Dominion now has much more dreadnoughts than we thought they had."
"How many?"
"We thought they had about three thousands. The fact that about that number is now in the Bajoran Sector and we haven't seen any anywhere else for weeks seemed to support that conjecture. But the Chameleon seems to have detected tens of thousands of those — not in Dominion's space though."
"Hmm."
"And then there is that story about the race which doesn't seem willing to yield to the Founders, and the Founders don't seem able to force them to. Starfleet Command wishes us to find a way to make contact."
"Oh."
Teroth smiled.
"Yes, Lovok. Starfleet is so desperate that now they're sending Romulans to negotiate alliances. How the mighty have fallen, hmm?"
"We owe them that."
"Of course we do. But don't tell me that the irony doesn't warm up your heart, at least a little bit."
"I would appreciate it more if we were not together on the losing side currently, Commander."
Teroth sighed.
"I know what you mean. Well, then let's make our share to assure that the dice will roll again, in our favor this time!"
"The dice?"
"Human expression. I believe it's a reference to luck."
"We're Romulans. We don't need luck."
"Of course not. But if I had some, I'd keep it in a box — just in case."
***
Kai Onara was known as an untraditional woman.
Some said that was why she had been elected. Her predecessor, Kai Rax, was an austere man, who had more interest for the rules than for the people he ruled. During the 13 years he had served as the Kai, things had not been very fun for the Bajorans.
Kai Onara was a petite, very petite woman in her forties, who laughed more often than she looked the kind of dead serious Rax had used them to, and loved her people and the Prophets. Onara had been the one who had broken with tradition by visiting Cardassia a few weeks before the Borg destroyed it, bringing back the last three Orbs of the Prophets as a gesture of goodwill from the Cardassians.
And now, the Kai had personally invited the USS Valiant to come and pick her up for a visit to Deep Space Nine.
Even better, she had brought a surprise to Kira.
"Pohl?"
"Nerys?"
***
Onara had walked to Fox and shaken his hand.
"Admiral, what a pleasure! You look a lot like the Emissary, if I may say so!"
"Wasn't the Captain a black man?"
"Yes, of course. I meant the pose, the stature, the dignity. I met the Emissary when I was fourteen, and I have never forgotten."
"Excuse me, Sir."
"Yes … ?"
"I'm sorry to bother you, but … tomorrow, after evening services in the Temple … we're having my daughter's ih'tanu ceremony. She's turning fourteen."
"Happy Birthday."
"We were wondering if there was any chance you could come and give her your blessing. It would mean so much to us."
"I'd be happy to."
"Thank you, Emissary."
"You're welcome."
***
Yirina was sleeping. Miral and Vasik were walking along the Yorktown's corridors, and Vasik was NOT in a good mood.
"He beat her again, didn't he?"
"Yeah."
Vasik tried not to show it, but he was MAD!
"I want to protect her, Miral. I understand that she doesn't want to cause problems, but hasn't she paid more than her share for making peace with her conscience?"
"She doesn't think so."
Vasik turned to Miral and looked at her right in her eyes.
"Did you fully understand what she told us yesterday?"
"I had to spend a few hours studying Advanced Quantum Mechanics, but yeah, I think I got it."
"Could you explain it to Old Wise?"
"No. Could you?"
"Not without having him study Advanced Quantum Mechanics and Photon Subharmonics Resonance for a few days first, I couldn't."
"True. Why are you asking?"
"Wise thinks Yirina is, like you say, a dummy. If she explained that to him, he would dismiss her. But he would listen to you."
"Yeah, but those are not mine to discuss."
"I know. But what if, once Old Wise has studied it, and recognized the validity of it …"
Miral smiled. Yes, it was a good idea!
"What if we told him that Yirina taught us all that?"
"Exactly!"
Miral punched her friend's arm. Vasik winced. Miral was much stronger than she looked.
"Well, Dummy, there is something in that green head of yours after all!"
Before Vasik could answer, a security officer came to them.
"Ensign Paris, Commander Hertzler wishes to see you at once."
***
Kira remembered. She was with Sisko the day when that father had approached him so timidly to make his request. She was so sure he would say no. But he had fought hard that day to find out whom of Akorem or him was the true Emissary, and finally that day he had accepted that he was in fact the One the Prophets still called "The Sisko".
And now Onara had brought with her Vedek Kira.
Kira Pohl was Nerys' younger brother by three years. For so long she hadn't met him, for so long they had disagreed on their way of life, him as a cleric, her as a resistant. And today, today at last, they had hugged and kissed and made peace.
Kai Onara was truly the real successor of Opaka.
And now she was at Quark's.
***
"Dabo!"
"Did I win?"
"Yes! Three strips of gold-plated latinum!"
"How interesting!"
"Would you like to continue?"
"Oh no, Mister Quark. I tried just to better understand the game, but personally, I don't like to play for latinum. Still, you will forward my gains to the War Orphans Fund, won't you?"
Quark typed on his PADD.
"Done!"
"Thank you, Mister Quark. Now, I didn't come here only to play Dabo. I would like to have a business conversation with you."
"A … business conversation?"
"Yes, Mister Quark! Bajorans do business too, you know!"
"But … the Kai?"
"As long as my earnings are spent for the greater good, I doubt that the Prophets will object. What do you think?"
"I'm all ears!"
***
Wilkins had gone to Troi. Troi had gone to Worf. Now Wilkins was telling Worf what he thought of him, and the Chancellor didn't like it.
"She was my Liaison Officer with you, Worf! How could she leave without being escorted?"
"She didn't ask for one."
"She didn't ASK? Do you think you would need to ASK for an armed escort if you came aboard the Samurai? My best security officers would be all around you, Worf!"
"Those things happen."
"Yes, in an honor-less society! Not here! Or does it?"
"What do you mean?"
"I mean why is your police insisting that the Salan explosion was an accident, when it was clearly an act of sabotage? Who tells them to lie to us? Is it you?"
"Do you doubt my word?"
"Right now, the only Klingon I trust is that woman you let assassinate in the yards of your damn Hall, Worf! She's the only one who could talk to me about honor and make me listen!"
"You seem to forget …"
"I'm not forgetting anything! I'd rather take my ships and die with honor fighting the Dominion and the Borg than hide here with an honor-less people who has forgotten the Rules of Kahless!"
Worf jumped on his feet, mad as hell. Wilkins stood on guard as the giant roared and ran to him.
***
"Well, Admiral, you should have known better than engage in hand-to-hand combat with a Klingon!"
"Shut up and repair me, Doctor."
Rose McCoy was not going to be impressed by her patient. In her family, they had been physicians for several generations now, and they said their say whether their patient liked it or not.
"Oh, I'll repair you all right. What are you going to fight next, a drunk Nausicaan? And what if that one had shoved his meqleH right in your heart, hmm?"
"I wasn't armed, he wouldn't have."
"Yes, of course, the damned Klingon honor. And have you forgotten the blood?"
Before Wilkins could answer, Forsythe and Dvorak came in.
"Leo, are you mad? Fighting an adult Klingon hand-to-hand?"
"You know it's not a problem for me, Bill."
"You still have a human body, Leo!"
"Yeah, and Worf still has a more or less Klingon face. I assure you that his wife is not happy with him right now …"
"Why did you fight him, Admiral?" Dvorak asked.
"Because now I know what B'Elanna went to find out. I'll explain later. Doc, will you finish sewing me up?"
"Tshhh …" McCoy replied.
***
Aboard the Samurai, Annie and Sabrina had had the good surprise of finding out, not only that they were both part of the crew, but also that they had been assigned to the Advanced Command course together.
So Annie had requested that Sabrina had quarters close to hers, and the two girls were now inseparable.
It wasn't just a matter of reviewing their notes together, however. Sabrina had some experience of command, having headed the Chameleon for months, and Annie was glad to listen to her comments. And since Sabrina had the experience of security aboard a starship built quite differently from every previous Starfleet vessel, she could benefit of her experience in that area too.
In exchange, Annie offered her experience as a touch-deprived young woman.
"Who taught you, Annie?"
"What? To live without feeling?"
"Yeah."
"I was invited aboard the Enterprise, and there I met Commander Data — well, B-4 really, but Captain Picard called him Data. He didn't feel anything either."
"But he was used to it."
"And I was not, Sabrina. He showed me how to use the rest of my senses, how to better feel through — smell, mostly. Smell is essential to me, as much as sight and hearing. You'll learn. And, most importantly, he helped me understand that I was still myself, not some kind of robot."
"I don't think you're a robot."
"What about you?"
"Huh?"
"Don't tell me that you haven't thought about being a robot, or a drone. I went through that."
"It's … better now."
"You're a woman, Sabrina. Beautiful, young, vibrant."
"But cold."
"Not to me."
"You can't feel me. I can't feel you."
"We can feel each other, Sabrina."
"How?"
"We can kiss."
***
Miral was standing at attention. John Hertzler was sitting behind his desk. Counselor T'Kal, at his side, was looking at her. T'Kal was a small, almost as small as Miral, Vulcan. She had been promoted Lieutenant because, well, Starfleet needed counselors, but she was more like an apprentice, in a situation not much different from the one Ezri Dax had been when she had arrived on Deep Space Nine: inexperienced, unsure of herself, but determined to serve.
Hertzler, being the giant he was, decided to stay in his chair, in order to not overbear Miral. This was not the time.
"Ensign, we have received news from the Klingon homeworld."
Miral gulped. For Hertzler to make that sorry face and having T'Kal at his side, he who didn't really seem to appreciate counselors as a rule, could only mean one thing.
"Yes, Sir."
"The Klingon News Network has announced yesterday the death of the Federation Liaison with the Klingon High Council, Colonel B'Elanna Torres."
Miral staggered. T'Kal came to her, held her arm. Miral rejected the help. She would stand up, without any help. She was a Klingon — at least part of her was.
"How did it happen?" she asked in a broken voice.
"It seems she was attacked outside the High Council's Building. Witnesses mentioned any number between six and ten assailants. Your mother fought a good fight, but … someone impaled her in the back with a bat'leth."
Miral was fighting to refrain from crying. She was not a Klingon. She did have tear ducts, and they would overflow soon. T'Kal saw it, put her hand on Miral's shoulder this time. Miral turned to her, hugged her and started crying.
Hertzler didn't know what to say, so he decided to just shut the hell up and let the counselor do her job.
It would always be time in a few minutes to tell Miral that the Yorktown was supposed to return to Khitomer soon anyway and that Captain Benteen had decided that now was as good a time as any …
***
Miles O'Brien was still a broken man. Having lost his son, having seen his wife go deeper into madness, and now having lost his daughter, he was alone once again, after having known the bliss of a loving family …
But Starfleet needed him. That damn Engineer Task Force wouldn't build itself, and with B'Elanna gone now, he would have to do the job alone.
"Admiral, welcome aboard the Edinburgh. I'm Samuel Lavelle."
"I remember you, Captain. You served on the Enterprise, didn't you?"
"I had that honor, Sir. I remember you too, of course, but I would never have thought …"
"I never forget a face, Captain. We met only for a few days, just before I left for DS9, but … you were talking with Ensign Sito."
"Yes, Sir."
"So, you have candidates for the Task Force on this dump?"
Lavelle smiled. The Edinburgh had been O'Brien's special baby years earlier, at Utopia Planitia. One of the first of the new Defiant-II Class, it had received "special attention" from him.
"Two, Admiral. Both are Romulans."
"Excellent. I'll meet them now."
"As you wish, Sir."
***
Galan Ralaa and Nn'khiy Maec were young. Ralaa wasn't particularly strapping for a male, and Maec wasn't particularly pretty for a female, but they both knew their way around an Engineering room.
Only something seemed wrong.
"Sir?"
O'Brien turned around.
"Yes, Lieutenant?"
"You already know, don't you?"
"I know that your Captain made me come here to look at those two. They're very good, but they're not what I'm looking for."
"I know. I recommended them."
O'Brien looked at the woman.
"You knew they weren't good enough, yet you recommended them?"
"Yes, Sir. Please give me two minutes and you will understand why."
***
Kai Onara had talked with Quark for more than an hour. Quark was stunned. He had immediately called his brother Rom.
Leeta had answered.
"Where is Rom?"
"My husband is presiding a meeting of the Admiralty, Quark. He cannot be bothered."
"It's about an incredible business proposal. I have …"
"Quark, there are Dominion ships all around Ferenginar, and not a day goes by without us meeting Borg Cubes. Every resource on the homeworld has been devoted to our defense, and even then we have no idea of what we will do if they attack. It's no time for business!"
Quark looked at his sister-in-law. She was twenty-five years older than when she was one of his Dabo girls and yet … She was still a gorgeous youngish woman. Only Leeta was now an accomplished politician and stateswoman, who had served as ambassador to Bajor from 2388 to 2398, and had left out of disdain for Jaro.
"I had no idea things were so bad."
Leeta calmed down.
"I'm sorry, Quark. We're all on pins and needles here. There are even discussions of sending an envoy to the Dominion, to sign some pact of non-aggression. But frankly, it's hard to imagine why they would be interested, when fifty of their dreadnoughts could wipe us out without problem."
"Don't worry, Leeta. Tell Rom I … Tell him I love him. Quark out."
***
While Quark was talking to Leeta, another communication had reached Deep Space Nine, and that one was much less cordial.
"I can't imagine how you would jeopardize everything I did for our people by visiting that wretched place, Eminence!"
"First Minister, I consider it my mission to try to find a peaceful solution to the current conflict between Bajor and the Federation. To that end, I plan to serve as an intermediary …"
"NO! You are coming back here at once!"
The Kai couldn't believe what she had just heard.
"You seem to forget who you are speaking to, First Minister."
"I haven't forgotten anything! I allowed you to become Kai, and I can have you thrown out of the Vedek Assembly in a heartbeat! Don't underestimate my power, and have no doubt that I will use it!"
"You have no power over the Vedek Assembly!"
"If you keep acting treacherously and consorting with the enemy, I will have no choice than to proceed, should I dissolve the Vedek Assembly to that end!"
"In that case, First Minister, you will find me on your way, fighting you at every corner! I am sure that I will find good teachers here for this little guerilla you're proposing!"
"Very well! Follow the news then! I'll make sure that they are fed to the station from now on!"
***
The Mogai had now reached the Grand Chasm.
"So this is it", Teroth said.
"Yes, Commander."
They were both staring at a giant screen, representing a detailed chart of the known Gamma Quadrant, with several enhancements on the other side of the Grand Chasm, that huge, hundreds of light-years long area known for containing an unusual density of quantum filaments. It was avoided by all ships and had been enforced by the powers behind it as a kind of equivalent of the now defunct Neutral Zone between them and the rest of the galaxy.
"So it was Jean-Luc Picard who named that place?"
"Yes, Commander."
"So what do we know of them, Lovok?"
"The Qalans and the Narags are two races living at the most extreme end of the Gamma Quadrant. About 1700 years ago, they were a single race, the Qas.
"They were visited by an apparently benevolent race who wanted in fact to obtain guinea pigs for their genetic experiments. The newcomers abducted thousands of unsuspecting Qas. They discovered that the Qas had in fact a double DNA pool. They experimented until they actually separated both sets into separate species. Then, after countless experiments, they released them to their home planet.
"But something turned horribly wrong as the two half-races showed to be deadly to the Qas, who started falling like flies. After the complete eradication of the mother race, they started to wonder what effect they would have on each other. They didn't want to know, and they shared in two equal parts the gigantic system the Qas occupied.
"Both societies evolved as extremely isolationist to the point of extreme violence at the smallest manifestation of any kind of threat to their isolationism. Only they won't just, like others, defend themselves. They'll bring the war to their apparent enemies' planet."
Teroth sighed.
"And Starfleet expects us to make allies of those guys?"
"Mostly the Qalans. Picard established a very limited first contact with them sixteen years ago."
"Well, let's see if we can go a few steps further …"
***
"Penny for your thoughts, honey?"
Sabrina raised her eyes. Annie was radiant, finally out of the sonic shower, wearing only her white bathrobe, open all the way down on her fascinating body. Not that Sabrina was wearing anything more, but her robe at least was closed and she was sitting down.
"I'm perplexed, Annie."
Annie knew this was serious. She asked:
"What is it? And why are you still studying those PADDs when we should be in bed studying each other?"
"In Tactical this afternoon, the teacher talked about Jem'Hadar tactics."
"Yeah?"
"He said that as a general rule, the Jem'Hadars will attack in waves of three, one wave firing, then the next, until the enemy is either destroyed or boarded."
"So?"
"He said that they almost never depart from that tactic, unless they are engaged in a big battle, in which case they act more or less individually."
"And that's not it?"
"That's not how I remember the attack on the Chameleon."
Annie sat down with her friend, took her hand in hers. None of them could feel anything, but it made them feel good inside anyway.
"You'll keep having nightmares about it for a long time, Sabrina. It might help to talk about it."
"That's part of why I asked you to sleep with me. I … don't want to wake up alone, with that nightmare once more in my head."
"I know. We're there for each other, remember? You help me with my nightmares, I help you with yours."
"How did you cope for all those years, Annie?"
"The nightmares, you mean? I screamed to the top of my lungs. I still do."
"Not with me."
"But when I hug you, you feel it in your bones, don't you?"
"I still feel the broken rib."
"And yet you still sleep with me."
"I love you, Annie. I sleep with you because … It does you good, and to me too, even if we feel each other only when we kiss."
Annie put her hand on Sabrina's cheek.
"Yeah, I know. I love you too, Sabrina. Tell me what the problem is with the tactical lesson."
Sabrina knew. Annie wasn't too strong at talking about her feelings.
"It's just … the Jem'Hadars didn't attack the Chameleon that way at all."
"How did they then?"
***
"OUCH!"
"Come on, Worf, don't be a baby!"
"I'M NOT A BABY!"
"What would the High Council think if they saw you right now?"
It was true. If Wilkins was looking like a man hit by a shuttle at impulse, Worf looked more like a torpedo would have exploded in his face. Of course, some Klingons bled more easily than some humans.
"You should see what I did to him!"
"I did, my love. I was not impressed."
"WHAT?"
"You're getting softer with age, Worf. There was a time when no human could resist you. But I guess that all good things …"
"That one has the Spirit of Kahless in him, Deanna! I have never seen a human, and very few Klingons, fight like that one does! OUCH!"
"He's not that big, and he doesn't look that strong."
"But it's true what they say: He has a Klingon heart — and a Romulan mind."
"So you told him?"
"Most of it."
***
Annie and Sabrina had worked for hours.
They had spent hours building a simulation, based on every bit of data extracted from the Chameleon and every bit of memory Sabrina had added to the mix. There it was, ready for presentation. To whom, they didn't know yet. But they would worry about that later.
Now the two friends were naked in bed, hugging each other, trying to feel something — anything besides their lips …
CHAPTER EIGHT
February 20, 2400
The USS Samurai had now been orbiting Qo'noS for the last two days. Nobody but the senior staff knew why. But speculations had been numerous.
The Klingons wanted the Federation to leave their space. Worf had decided to go back to Starfleet. Wilkins was going to become the first non-Klingon to be part of the High Council.
And then there were the really crazy rumors.
***
A few hours after her arrival, the Samurai had been put in standing yellow alert, which had seemed to confirm the first rumor. Then it had happened.
"Security to Transporter Room One! Repeat, Security to Transporter Room One! Captain Shelby to Transporter Room One!"
Transporter Room One was not just another transporter room. It was the nervous centre of a most secured access network to the Samurai, which involved numerous security systems to, among other things, immediately detect and reject any changeling who would try to make his way on the flagship. There were always at least six security members in that vast room at any time. That more were called could only mean one thing: a VIP was coming on board. The Samurai was orbiting Qo'noS, so who else could it be than …
"I'm sorry, Sabrina, I can't tell you."
"But you know."
"Well, it would be hard not to, considering that every officer in Security has been informed. But we have been sworn to absolute secrecy."
"I understand, Annie. I myself have had to keep secrecy once in a while too. Still, the way this mysterious passenger came aboard is quite unusual."
"I can't even confirm if it was a passenger or not, Sabrina."
"Oh. Anyway, there must have been a hundred security members all the way to Transporter Room One …"
"Two hundred and fourteen exactly."
"And they essentially emptied the whole deck. Then Captain Shelby just arrived with Admiral Wilkins and from there on, we know only that nobody … or nothing came out, so it must have been transported somewhere, since Transporter Room One is now as normal as before."
"That I can confirm."
"And it's still aboard the ship, somewhere on Deck Three, which is now accessible only to a few select senior officers."
"Possibly."
"Now, what's on Deck Three? The Admiral's Conference Room, which would confirm the rumor of talks with the Dominion, or with a big power which might become an ally …"
"Wouldn't that be nice?"
Annie would already have sternly stopped anyone else from conjecturing. But Sabrina was busy massaging her at the time, and she felt the little woman's hands, stronger than they looked, rubbing her from the shoulders to the soles of her feet, and she could smell the very fragrant orange blossom warm oil she was using to please her senses. Yeah, Annie's sense of touch may have been absent, the perfume of orange blossom all along her bare back and legs was a feast for her nostrils, particularly combined with the Risian Twin Opal oil fragrance emanating from Sabrina's own naked body, with which she had just rubbed her friend a few minutes earlier …
"Of course, there's also the fact that Doctor McCoy spends most of her time on Deck Three. Would by any chance the thing in question be some kind of bioactive matter, which would be used to develop a new weapon, or a new defense system?"
"It would be a distinct possibility …"
Annie was certainly NOT going to stop Sabrina from talking, afraid that she was that she would also stop massaging her …
***
The Yorktown had been instructed to join the Samurai in orbit around Qo'noS. Now John Hertzler was in the Transporter Room with Miral, waiting to receive a very important visitor.
"He was supposed to work with my mother to build a Special Task Force, I heard."
"Yes, Ensign."
Hertzler was still very uneasy around the little Klingon. He would never be able to deal with that kind of pain. So he tried to remain emotionless.
"Do you know why?"
"I'd suspect it's to build some better battleship than the ones we currently have."
"Like the Deletham?"
Hertzler looked at her, surprised.
"Maybe. Why particularly that one?"
"I heard things about her."
"We all did, Ensign. But if such a ship did exist, Starfleet would already be building a hundred of them."
Miral opened her mouth to answer, but the transporter activated. After a few seconds appeared Rear Admiral Miles Edward O'Brien.
"Sir!" they all said, standing at attention.
"At ease!" O'Brien answered. "You must be Commander Hertzler."
"Yes, Sir."
"And you, little lady, I guess you are Ensign Miral Paris."
"Yes, Sir!" Miral answered.
"I had the privilege of knowing your mother, Ensign. She was a very brave and nice woman, with a deep … humanity, I guess, is the word I am looking for. You know what I mean."
"I am not ashamed of my human heritage, Admiral. In fact, I am very proud of it."
"Be proud of the whole of your heritage, Ensign. I am sorry for your loss."
"And I present you my condolences for yours, Admiral."
"Thank you, Ensign. She would have loved you."
Without adding a word, the old man made a gesture to Hertzler, who escorted him out.
***
"Welcome aboard the Samurai, Ensign Paris. Hold still while we scan you. This will take only a minute."
Miral knew about the advanced security measures. It seemed redundant, considering that the transporter was already filtering any changeling DNA, but extraordinary circumstances justified extraordinary precautions.
"Thank you, Ensign. Please wait until Lieutenant Racicot arrives. She will escort you."
Miral was wondering what was happening, why she had been summoned aboard the Federation's flagship. Surely it was not a transfer, or she would have been informed of her new affectation. But Hertzler had simply told her:
"Admiral Wilkins has requested your presence aboard the Samurai, Ensign. Get dressed and follow me."
Annie arrived, half running, half walking. Miral stood at attention.
"Ensign Paris?"
"Yes, Sir!"
"Follow me, please."
Miral started following.
"May I ask, Sir, why the Admiral asked for me?"
"I believe the Admiral would prefer to tell you himself, Ensign."
Miral understood, shut up and followed silently, wondering what the hell was happening."
***
Lieutenant Commander Erich Wisenheimer was the Chief Engineer of the Yorktown. He was a competent engineer and a poor judge of character. But Starfleet needed experienced officers to head Engineering in big starships. So he was it.
Miles O'Brien knew that. He regretted that the next generation had been bled by the war, and those old fossils would probably remain in function for many more years, simply because no one else was available.
"Commander."
"Sir, how may I be of help?"
"I'm looking for a Crewman Sorel."
"Crewman Sorel, Sir?"
"She's on board, right?"
"Yes, Sir. She's in Lieutenant Watson's team. I'll ask him …"
"Never mind. Just tell me where he is."
***
"Crewman Sorel is a very valuable member of our crew, Sir."
O'Brien looked at the young Vulcan.
"What's your name, son?"
"Vasik, Sir. Ensign Vasik."
"So tell me, Vasik, if she's so good, why is she still a crewman?"
"I believe it's primarily because she is a Romulan, Sir."
"Nonsense! Cestus IV is far away now."
"Not for everyone, Sir."
"Thinking of anyone in particular, Ensign?"
Vasik was so willing to tell O'Brien the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth about the way Yirina was treated by Watson. But he knew Yirina wouldn't forgive him. No, he had to let the old man make up his own mind, if it meant for him to bite his heart into silence.
"No, Sir. This is Docking Bay Five, Sir. Lieutenant Watson is the giant there."
"Big guy. Thank you, Ensign. You may go."
O'Brien came closer, in awe of the sheer size of the guy. Watson felt the Admiral's presence, turned around and stood at attention, looking even bigger and taller.
"At ease, Lieutenant. Where is Crewman Sorel?"
"That good-for … I'm not sure, Sir."
"Isn't it part of your job to know?"
"I giver her a wide latitude, Sir. It's not as if she was assigned any important tasks."
"Why not?"
"She wouldn't know what to do."
"I've been told that she knew her way in an Engineering room."
"Maybe in the waste conduits, but that's about it, Sir."
O'Brien looked at the man. His intuition was telling him that Vasik was specifically referring to guys like him when he spoke of the Cestus IV problem.
"That may be the case, but since I'm here, I'll talk to her. Please find her now."
The giant so didn't want to. But what choice did he have?
"Very well, Sir."
***
"You knew they weren't good enough, yet you recommended them?"
"Yes, Sir. Please give me two minutes and you will understand why."
"You better have a good explanation, Lieutenant … McKeon, right?"
"Yes, Sir."
"I'm listening."
"Sir, I know a Romulan engineer who says she has been the Chief Engineer on the Deletham."
"What? The Deletham has only had one Chief Engineer, as far as I know!"
"She says that for the first two years, she was it. She transferred to Starfleet as part of the integration process."
"How did you meet her?"
"She was aboard the Masada, Sir."
"Maddox was the Chief Engineer on the Masada."
"She was not serving as Chief Engineer. She was a propulsion specialist."
"We have a lot of propulsion specialists. That's not what I'm looking for."
"No one like her, Sir. You are no doubt aware of the Mark XXI problems on the Luna-Class starships."
"It's still an unsolved problem as of now."
"No, Sir."
"What do you mean?"
"I'm sure she knows how to solve it."
"She knows?"
"Yes, Sir. I'd bet my pips on it!"
"You just did. And where could I find that genius?"
"Last time I heard, on the Yorktown, Sir. Her name is Yirina Sorel."
***
"Crewman Sorel?"
"Yes, Sir."
O'Brien looked at the so tiny young woman in front of him. She looked so young. She was so dirty. She looked so … sad and scared.
And then there was Watson's ominous hulk right behind him.
O'Brien wouldn't take it any longer. Without turning around he just said, in his most authoritative voice:
"You're dismissed, Lieutenant!"
Watson threw a threatening stare at Yirina and left.
"Do you know who I am?" he said quietly to Yirina.
"Admiral Miles Edward O'Brien, in charge of the Starfleet Corps of Engineers, Sir."
"Right. Someone told me good things about you, Crewman. I'm here to check them out."
"Yes, Sir."
"I've been told that you would know how to solve the Mark XXI Warp Drive problem on Luna-type propulsion systems."
Yirina looked at the old man. She knew who had talked. She was hoping McKeon had not told anyone the way Watson was still treating her almost daily.
"Yes, Sir."
"So tell me."
"Very well, Sir. The answer is to substitute Type V buffers to the Type VII of the ternary warp field generator. In fact, almost all of the problems of the Mark XXI, most notably its relative instability at maximum warp, come from there."
"The most advanced engineers in Starfleet have determined that the problem was in the primary refractor, Crewman", O'Brien sighed, disappointed.
"With all due respect, Sir, they're wrong."
***
First, it was one echo on the screens. Then sixteen echoes. Finally eighty-five echoes were detected coming at high warp toward the Khitomer Star System.
Forsythe was in charge of Khitomer. He was aboard the old Salamanca when he received the message, relayed to him from the bridge. He was thrown out of his bed by the earsplitting alert klaxons which had so rarely been heard on the diplomatic ship until that day.
"Ops, what's happening?"
"Admiral, this is not a drill. A huge alien fleet is coming to Khitomer."
"What kind of aliens?"
"According to our readings, they're Dreadnoughts, followed by an undetermined number of Reman Scimitars and countless Jem'Hadar attack ships."
"Deploy the shields. Lock and load phasers at them. Lock on torpedoes. I will be at Ops in a minute!"
Forsythe ran, faster than he had ever run, trying to get dressed while running, jostling everyone on his way. Somehow he managed to arrive on the Bridge dressed.
"Report!"
"We have counted 85 Dreadnoughts, 14 Scimitars and about 300 attack ships."
"Get me the Samurai."
"We … have no communications."
"What?"
"They have jammed communications."
"From that distance?"
"Yes, Sir."
"How long before they get here?"
The helmsman did not have time to answer. One of the Salamanca's disruptors exploded, shaking the ship and damaging its shields and part of its torpedo launchers. Then two more blasted, and the old ship started losing power all around.
"Call Qo'noS!"
"No communication either, Sir."
"You mean they jam Klingon frequencies as well?"
"Yes, Admiral."
"Are they in reach of our weapons?"
"No, Sir. They are using very long range weapons, longer even than Romulan disruptors."
"So we're sitting ducks?"
"Yes, Sir. If what's left of our shields holds, we may be able to fire in a few minutes. We should get the non-combatant vessels as far as possible from the system."
"Good idea. Marul …"
He did not have time to finish. Another explosion occurred, this time on the Bridge, and removed half of its outer hull with it.
Forsythe was now lying on the ground, still alive, but his blood running from his face and chest. The explosion had killed everyone else on Ops. With horror, he saw his own legs in front of him, torn from his body by one of the projectiles thrown by the explosion.
The control panels were all dead now. Nothing would work. Nothing would stop the enemy fleet. In a few minutes, everything, his whole crew had been put to rest. He felt life leaving his body. He sighed, for the last time, and expired. His last look had been for the first colossal black ship getting in visual range in the huge hole created by the last explosion, which now was protected only by the dying force field …
***
It was a Klingon defense ship who sent the message, just before it went into the fight.
"So we're talking about four hundred ships? Damn!"
"Yes, Admiral. Our ships, the Romulan fleet and the Klingons are doing the best they can, but they're no match."
"Of course, they're no match, Samantha. Well, let's get there and try to help. Call Benteen and tell her …"
"Captain Benteen has already asked permission to join the Samurai."
"Good. The Samurai and the Yorktown together may not be much, but at least we'll show them what we're made of!"
The Samurai and the Yorktown were two of the four Sovereign-II Class starships the Federation had built, the other two being the Hawthorne, currently on repair at the Gamma Eridon shipyards, and the Hornet, on a shakedown cruise on the other side of Klingon space.
At least that was what Wilkins thought. What he didn't know and would hurt for some time was that the Dominion-Reman fleet had already taken care of the Gamma Eridon shipyards …
***
The Khitomer System was now in front of the attacking fleet. It was protected by maybe fifty ships of all origins and ages, much less powerful than the monsters facing them.
As soon as it arrived, the fleet opened fire on the system. One of the Warbirds protecting it had been heavily damaged already. While the fleet was still firing, the remaining Warbirds were trying to move forward to the attacker, while transmitting distress calls … To no avail: communications were jammed, just as they had been during the Starfleet massacre. Without any way of consulting, the ships tried to regroup in front of the main planet while opening fire. But their disruptors did not have the power to fire kilometers away like the fleet did, not with any kind of efficiency or precision anyway. Soon all ships were blown to smithereens.
The fleet kept firing on the inhabited planets of the system. It took them only a few minutes to dismantle the whole of the military installations. The Klingons, however, had had time to aim at the fleet with a prototype of plasma cannon. It fired once, blowing the two most advanced Dreadnoughts in the process.
The remaining eighty-three ships and their Reman counterparts concentrated their fire on the cannon, destroying it instantly. Then, like rabid pit-bulls, they started firing on everything, including the civilian quarters all around on the planet.
And then it happened.
As the skies were slowly going back to their usual darkness after the battle, a blue vortex opened over the Dominion-Reman fleet. To the Vorta in charge of the attack, it looked like the Bajoran wormhole. Only it wasn't. In fact, it wasn't a wormhole at all.
"Something" stormed out and opened fire on the attacking fleet. Before anyone had time to react, already five Dreadnoughts were burning in space, lifeless hulks of metal.
The captain of the Vor'Kha looked at his screen dumbfounded. The best description anyone could think of was a small firebird sending lightning bolts all around. It wasn't big, yet it was lighting even the void of space and its weapons seemed to encompass all heavens at the same time.
"What the HELL is that?"
"No idea, Sir. But I'd say it's on our side."
"But what is it?"
The firebird launched something — nobody had the time to see what — over the last defending ships, right into the Dominion-Reman fleet, and incinerated twenty-eight Dreadnoughts at once. Screaming right inside the deflagration, right in the middle of the Jem'Hadars, it started sending some kind of blinding white electrical discharges, disabling them one after another, torpedoing one after another.
"Are you seeing what I'm seeing?"
"Yes, Sir. Almost half of the Dreadnoughts already destroyed or disabled. I don't think whatever that is has even been scratched yet."
The "thing" was still sending bolts, sending torpedoes, firing from all sides at a time. It was frightening. The other ships had withdrawn, petrified, literally stunned by the spectacle. Explosion upon explosion, debris upon debris were repelled by the ships' shields. Around the scene, already some enemy ships were beginning to emerge, some in pieces, some left with only a quarter or less of their structure, all disabled, adrift, dead. The skies were a blaze of fire, metal and death, and only debris sometimes emerged from it, while the "thing" kept spreading wanton destruction to the Dominion …
They were leaving. Petrified by what they had seen, the Vorta had ordered retreat. He would confer with the Founders about what had just happened. After all, the mission was accomplished, the Federation-Romulan fleet was in ruins, the Khitomer System in shambles …
***
Aboard the Samurai, flying at maximum warp to the battle, Wilkins had nothing to do, since no one had any detail other than what the Vor'Kha had told them before it was blasted to bits by a Scimitar.
So he might as well use the time to do what he had planned to do.
"Ensign Paris?"
"Yes, Sir."
"Ensign, you have been recommended for a Special Engineering Task Force in charge of building the next generation of battleship."
"Me, Sir?"
"Yes. It seems that you collect advanced degrees in battleship design like others collect butterflies. Why?"
"My mother taught me to always be my best, Sir."
"To BE your best?"
"Yes, Sir."
"Well, that's the kind of behavior she always showed us. Your mother has promptly earned my trust and my respect. I like to think that her daughter will do the same."
"I live to serve, Sir."
Wilkins looked at the petite woman. He had judged her. The reports on her character were right. She was the kind of youth Wilkins wanted on the team.
"Walk with me, Miss Paris."
Miral started walking — almost running, really, because Wilkins was walking with all the speed his long legs allowed him —, followed by Annie. Together they reached the famed Deck Three, filled to the rim with security people.
At the door of a holodeck, Wilkins stopped and turned around.
"Ensign, what you are going to see now, you must reveal to NO ONE! You will soon understand why. Is that clear?"
"Yes, Sir!"
"Very well."
Wilkins entered a code, the door opened. They all came in. The holodeck had been transformed in an advanced Sickbay with one biobed, heavily guarded. At the bedside was Rose McCoy, holding a medical tricorder over her patient. And in the bed …
"Mother?"
"Hi … sweetheart."
"Don't tire my patient, Miss Paris", McCoy told her. "She's not out of the woods yet."
"Mother, I thought you were dead!"
While the mother and the daughter were talking, Wilkins took McCoy apart.
"How is she, Doctor?"
"Not much better than yesterday, Admiral. I'm glad you brought her daughter aboard, because we may need lots of blood, and I'd rather use real one than that crap, which is definitely not good for Klingon-human hybrids."
"She is a member of the Task Force."
"Good. I'll need to examine her thoroughly, and that means more than just scanning her. She'll definitely have to undress and spend a couple of days here."
"Xenobiology comes second, Doctor."
"Xenobiology is what may save Colonel Torres, Sir."
"I trust you, Doctor."
Wilkins went back to the bed.
"I … told her … Sir."
"Good. Ensign, I'm sorry for the scare. But now you understand why the fact that your mother had been rescued in extremis had to remain a secret."
"Yes, Sir."
"I'll leave the two of you now. Annie … Lieutenant Racicot, when she leaves, escort the Ensign to her quarters."
"Yes, Sir!"
After Wilkins had left, the two women kept talking, while Annie took McCoy aside to give them some intimacy.
"Did you recommend me for the Task Force, Mother?"
"We need young and imaginative people, ready to teach and learn. That's you, Miral. You have so much to offer Starfleet."
"Would I have been selected if you hadn't recommended me, Mother?"
"You already were on the list when I saw it for the first time, Miral. All you need to be a Chief Engineer is rank and experience. You'll get both in the Task Force."
"Would I have been selected, Mother?"
"Probably, sweetheart."
Miral looked at her mother. She so didn't want to owe her selection to favoritism. B'Elanna saw it. It was the old argument all over again.
"This task force is going to be huge, Miral. Hundreds of members, thousands maybe. Admiral Wilkins wants to shape the next generation to a long-term situation. He feels that this war may very well last decades, and he doesn't want Starfleet to depend on old geezers like him and me to lead the war effort. You would have been selected. Maybe not this soon, but you would have been … Ha!"
"Mother?"
At the first sound, the Doctor had rushed back to the bed.
"She's having an attack! Nurse! You, out!" she ordered Miral.
"She's my mother!"
"And I'm her doctor! Out! You, get her out!" she shouted at Annie.
"No! I want to … OW!"
Annie had taken Miral by the arm. The young woman tried to escape, but there was no way. Annie now held her by both arms and was irresistibly pushing her out of the room.
The door closed behind them.
Annie let Miral go. She turned around, ready to jump on her, when her human, more rational side started to slowly get the best of her. There was nothing to do but wait.
"How the hell did you do that … Sir?"
February 20, 2400
The USS Samurai had now been orbiting Qo'noS for the last two days. Nobody but the senior staff knew why. But speculations had been numerous.
The Klingons wanted the Federation to leave their space. Worf had decided to go back to Starfleet. Wilkins was going to become the first non-Klingon to be part of the High Council.
And then there were the really crazy rumors.
***
A few hours after her arrival, the Samurai had been put in standing yellow alert, which had seemed to confirm the first rumor. Then it had happened.
"Security to Transporter Room One! Repeat, Security to Transporter Room One! Captain Shelby to Transporter Room One!"
Transporter Room One was not just another transporter room. It was the nervous centre of a most secured access network to the Samurai, which involved numerous security systems to, among other things, immediately detect and reject any changeling who would try to make his way on the flagship. There were always at least six security members in that vast room at any time. That more were called could only mean one thing: a VIP was coming on board. The Samurai was orbiting Qo'noS, so who else could it be than …
"I'm sorry, Sabrina, I can't tell you."
"But you know."
"Well, it would be hard not to, considering that every officer in Security has been informed. But we have been sworn to absolute secrecy."
"I understand, Annie. I myself have had to keep secrecy once in a while too. Still, the way this mysterious passenger came aboard is quite unusual."
"I can't even confirm if it was a passenger or not, Sabrina."
"Oh. Anyway, there must have been a hundred security members all the way to Transporter Room One …"
"Two hundred and fourteen exactly."
"And they essentially emptied the whole deck. Then Captain Shelby just arrived with Admiral Wilkins and from there on, we know only that nobody … or nothing came out, so it must have been transported somewhere, since Transporter Room One is now as normal as before."
"That I can confirm."
"And it's still aboard the ship, somewhere on Deck Three, which is now accessible only to a few select senior officers."
"Possibly."
"Now, what's on Deck Three? The Admiral's Conference Room, which would confirm the rumor of talks with the Dominion, or with a big power which might become an ally …"
"Wouldn't that be nice?"
Annie would already have sternly stopped anyone else from conjecturing. But Sabrina was busy massaging her at the time, and she felt the little woman's hands, stronger than they looked, rubbing her from the shoulders to the soles of her feet, and she could smell the very fragrant orange blossom warm oil she was using to please her senses. Yeah, Annie's sense of touch may have been absent, the perfume of orange blossom all along her bare back and legs was a feast for her nostrils, particularly combined with the Risian Twin Opal oil fragrance emanating from Sabrina's own naked body, with which she had just rubbed her friend a few minutes earlier …
"Of course, there's also the fact that Doctor McCoy spends most of her time on Deck Three. Would by any chance the thing in question be some kind of bioactive matter, which would be used to develop a new weapon, or a new defense system?"
"It would be a distinct possibility …"
Annie was certainly NOT going to stop Sabrina from talking, afraid that she was that she would also stop massaging her …
***
The Yorktown had been instructed to join the Samurai in orbit around Qo'noS. Now John Hertzler was in the Transporter Room with Miral, waiting to receive a very important visitor.
"He was supposed to work with my mother to build a Special Task Force, I heard."
"Yes, Ensign."
Hertzler was still very uneasy around the little Klingon. He would never be able to deal with that kind of pain. So he tried to remain emotionless.
"Do you know why?"
"I'd suspect it's to build some better battleship than the ones we currently have."
"Like the Deletham?"
Hertzler looked at her, surprised.
"Maybe. Why particularly that one?"
"I heard things about her."
"We all did, Ensign. But if such a ship did exist, Starfleet would already be building a hundred of them."
Miral opened her mouth to answer, but the transporter activated. After a few seconds appeared Rear Admiral Miles Edward O'Brien.
"Sir!" they all said, standing at attention.
"At ease!" O'Brien answered. "You must be Commander Hertzler."
"Yes, Sir."
"And you, little lady, I guess you are Ensign Miral Paris."
"Yes, Sir!" Miral answered.
"I had the privilege of knowing your mother, Ensign. She was a very brave and nice woman, with a deep … humanity, I guess, is the word I am looking for. You know what I mean."
"I am not ashamed of my human heritage, Admiral. In fact, I am very proud of it."
"Be proud of the whole of your heritage, Ensign. I am sorry for your loss."
"And I present you my condolences for yours, Admiral."
"Thank you, Ensign. She would have loved you."
Without adding a word, the old man made a gesture to Hertzler, who escorted him out.
***
"Welcome aboard the Samurai, Ensign Paris. Hold still while we scan you. This will take only a minute."
Miral knew about the advanced security measures. It seemed redundant, considering that the transporter was already filtering any changeling DNA, but extraordinary circumstances justified extraordinary precautions.
"Thank you, Ensign. Please wait until Lieutenant Racicot arrives. She will escort you."
Miral was wondering what was happening, why she had been summoned aboard the Federation's flagship. Surely it was not a transfer, or she would have been informed of her new affectation. But Hertzler had simply told her:
"Admiral Wilkins has requested your presence aboard the Samurai, Ensign. Get dressed and follow me."
Annie arrived, half running, half walking. Miral stood at attention.
"Ensign Paris?"
"Yes, Sir!"
"Follow me, please."
Miral started following.
"May I ask, Sir, why the Admiral asked for me?"
"I believe the Admiral would prefer to tell you himself, Ensign."
Miral understood, shut up and followed silently, wondering what the hell was happening."
***
Lieutenant Commander Erich Wisenheimer was the Chief Engineer of the Yorktown. He was a competent engineer and a poor judge of character. But Starfleet needed experienced officers to head Engineering in big starships. So he was it.
Miles O'Brien knew that. He regretted that the next generation had been bled by the war, and those old fossils would probably remain in function for many more years, simply because no one else was available.
"Commander."
"Sir, how may I be of help?"
"I'm looking for a Crewman Sorel."
"Crewman Sorel, Sir?"
"She's on board, right?"
"Yes, Sir. She's in Lieutenant Watson's team. I'll ask him …"
"Never mind. Just tell me where he is."
***
"Crewman Sorel is a very valuable member of our crew, Sir."
O'Brien looked at the young Vulcan.
"What's your name, son?"
"Vasik, Sir. Ensign Vasik."
"So tell me, Vasik, if she's so good, why is she still a crewman?"
"I believe it's primarily because she is a Romulan, Sir."
"Nonsense! Cestus IV is far away now."
"Not for everyone, Sir."
"Thinking of anyone in particular, Ensign?"
Vasik was so willing to tell O'Brien the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth about the way Yirina was treated by Watson. But he knew Yirina wouldn't forgive him. No, he had to let the old man make up his own mind, if it meant for him to bite his heart into silence.
"No, Sir. This is Docking Bay Five, Sir. Lieutenant Watson is the giant there."
"Big guy. Thank you, Ensign. You may go."
O'Brien came closer, in awe of the sheer size of the guy. Watson felt the Admiral's presence, turned around and stood at attention, looking even bigger and taller.
"At ease, Lieutenant. Where is Crewman Sorel?"
"That good-for … I'm not sure, Sir."
"Isn't it part of your job to know?"
"I giver her a wide latitude, Sir. It's not as if she was assigned any important tasks."
"Why not?"
"She wouldn't know what to do."
"I've been told that she knew her way in an Engineering room."
"Maybe in the waste conduits, but that's about it, Sir."
O'Brien looked at the man. His intuition was telling him that Vasik was specifically referring to guys like him when he spoke of the Cestus IV problem.
"That may be the case, but since I'm here, I'll talk to her. Please find her now."
The giant so didn't want to. But what choice did he have?
"Very well, Sir."
***
"You knew they weren't good enough, yet you recommended them?"
"Yes, Sir. Please give me two minutes and you will understand why."
"You better have a good explanation, Lieutenant … McKeon, right?"
"Yes, Sir."
"I'm listening."
"Sir, I know a Romulan engineer who says she has been the Chief Engineer on the Deletham."
"What? The Deletham has only had one Chief Engineer, as far as I know!"
"She says that for the first two years, she was it. She transferred to Starfleet as part of the integration process."
"How did you meet her?"
"She was aboard the Masada, Sir."
"Maddox was the Chief Engineer on the Masada."
"She was not serving as Chief Engineer. She was a propulsion specialist."
"We have a lot of propulsion specialists. That's not what I'm looking for."
"No one like her, Sir. You are no doubt aware of the Mark XXI problems on the Luna-Class starships."
"It's still an unsolved problem as of now."
"No, Sir."
"What do you mean?"
"I'm sure she knows how to solve it."
"She knows?"
"Yes, Sir. I'd bet my pips on it!"
"You just did. And where could I find that genius?"
"Last time I heard, on the Yorktown, Sir. Her name is Yirina Sorel."
***
"Crewman Sorel?"
"Yes, Sir."
O'Brien looked at the so tiny young woman in front of him. She looked so young. She was so dirty. She looked so … sad and scared.
And then there was Watson's ominous hulk right behind him.
O'Brien wouldn't take it any longer. Without turning around he just said, in his most authoritative voice:
"You're dismissed, Lieutenant!"
Watson threw a threatening stare at Yirina and left.
"Do you know who I am?" he said quietly to Yirina.
"Admiral Miles Edward O'Brien, in charge of the Starfleet Corps of Engineers, Sir."
"Right. Someone told me good things about you, Crewman. I'm here to check them out."
"Yes, Sir."
"I've been told that you would know how to solve the Mark XXI Warp Drive problem on Luna-type propulsion systems."
Yirina looked at the old man. She knew who had talked. She was hoping McKeon had not told anyone the way Watson was still treating her almost daily.
"Yes, Sir."
"So tell me."
"Very well, Sir. The answer is to substitute Type V buffers to the Type VII of the ternary warp field generator. In fact, almost all of the problems of the Mark XXI, most notably its relative instability at maximum warp, come from there."
"The most advanced engineers in Starfleet have determined that the problem was in the primary refractor, Crewman", O'Brien sighed, disappointed.
"With all due respect, Sir, they're wrong."
***
First, it was one echo on the screens. Then sixteen echoes. Finally eighty-five echoes were detected coming at high warp toward the Khitomer Star System.
Forsythe was in charge of Khitomer. He was aboard the old Salamanca when he received the message, relayed to him from the bridge. He was thrown out of his bed by the earsplitting alert klaxons which had so rarely been heard on the diplomatic ship until that day.
"Ops, what's happening?"
"Admiral, this is not a drill. A huge alien fleet is coming to Khitomer."
"What kind of aliens?"
"According to our readings, they're Dreadnoughts, followed by an undetermined number of Reman Scimitars and countless Jem'Hadar attack ships."
"Deploy the shields. Lock and load phasers at them. Lock on torpedoes. I will be at Ops in a minute!"
Forsythe ran, faster than he had ever run, trying to get dressed while running, jostling everyone on his way. Somehow he managed to arrive on the Bridge dressed.
"Report!"
"We have counted 85 Dreadnoughts, 14 Scimitars and about 300 attack ships."
"Get me the Samurai."
"We … have no communications."
"What?"
"They have jammed communications."
"From that distance?"
"Yes, Sir."
"How long before they get here?"
The helmsman did not have time to answer. One of the Salamanca's disruptors exploded, shaking the ship and damaging its shields and part of its torpedo launchers. Then two more blasted, and the old ship started losing power all around.
"Call Qo'noS!"
"No communication either, Sir."
"You mean they jam Klingon frequencies as well?"
"Yes, Admiral."
"Are they in reach of our weapons?"
"No, Sir. They are using very long range weapons, longer even than Romulan disruptors."
"So we're sitting ducks?"
"Yes, Sir. If what's left of our shields holds, we may be able to fire in a few minutes. We should get the non-combatant vessels as far as possible from the system."
"Good idea. Marul …"
He did not have time to finish. Another explosion occurred, this time on the Bridge, and removed half of its outer hull with it.
Forsythe was now lying on the ground, still alive, but his blood running from his face and chest. The explosion had killed everyone else on Ops. With horror, he saw his own legs in front of him, torn from his body by one of the projectiles thrown by the explosion.
The control panels were all dead now. Nothing would work. Nothing would stop the enemy fleet. In a few minutes, everything, his whole crew had been put to rest. He felt life leaving his body. He sighed, for the last time, and expired. His last look had been for the first colossal black ship getting in visual range in the huge hole created by the last explosion, which now was protected only by the dying force field …
***
It was a Klingon defense ship who sent the message, just before it went into the fight.
"So we're talking about four hundred ships? Damn!"
"Yes, Admiral. Our ships, the Romulan fleet and the Klingons are doing the best they can, but they're no match."
"Of course, they're no match, Samantha. Well, let's get there and try to help. Call Benteen and tell her …"
"Captain Benteen has already asked permission to join the Samurai."
"Good. The Samurai and the Yorktown together may not be much, but at least we'll show them what we're made of!"
The Samurai and the Yorktown were two of the four Sovereign-II Class starships the Federation had built, the other two being the Hawthorne, currently on repair at the Gamma Eridon shipyards, and the Hornet, on a shakedown cruise on the other side of Klingon space.
At least that was what Wilkins thought. What he didn't know and would hurt for some time was that the Dominion-Reman fleet had already taken care of the Gamma Eridon shipyards …
***
The Khitomer System was now in front of the attacking fleet. It was protected by maybe fifty ships of all origins and ages, much less powerful than the monsters facing them.
As soon as it arrived, the fleet opened fire on the system. One of the Warbirds protecting it had been heavily damaged already. While the fleet was still firing, the remaining Warbirds were trying to move forward to the attacker, while transmitting distress calls … To no avail: communications were jammed, just as they had been during the Starfleet massacre. Without any way of consulting, the ships tried to regroup in front of the main planet while opening fire. But their disruptors did not have the power to fire kilometers away like the fleet did, not with any kind of efficiency or precision anyway. Soon all ships were blown to smithereens.
The fleet kept firing on the inhabited planets of the system. It took them only a few minutes to dismantle the whole of the military installations. The Klingons, however, had had time to aim at the fleet with a prototype of plasma cannon. It fired once, blowing the two most advanced Dreadnoughts in the process.
The remaining eighty-three ships and their Reman counterparts concentrated their fire on the cannon, destroying it instantly. Then, like rabid pit-bulls, they started firing on everything, including the civilian quarters all around on the planet.
And then it happened.
As the skies were slowly going back to their usual darkness after the battle, a blue vortex opened over the Dominion-Reman fleet. To the Vorta in charge of the attack, it looked like the Bajoran wormhole. Only it wasn't. In fact, it wasn't a wormhole at all.
"Something" stormed out and opened fire on the attacking fleet. Before anyone had time to react, already five Dreadnoughts were burning in space, lifeless hulks of metal.
The captain of the Vor'Kha looked at his screen dumbfounded. The best description anyone could think of was a small firebird sending lightning bolts all around. It wasn't big, yet it was lighting even the void of space and its weapons seemed to encompass all heavens at the same time.
"What the HELL is that?"
"No idea, Sir. But I'd say it's on our side."
"But what is it?"
The firebird launched something — nobody had the time to see what — over the last defending ships, right into the Dominion-Reman fleet, and incinerated twenty-eight Dreadnoughts at once. Screaming right inside the deflagration, right in the middle of the Jem'Hadars, it started sending some kind of blinding white electrical discharges, disabling them one after another, torpedoing one after another.
"Are you seeing what I'm seeing?"
"Yes, Sir. Almost half of the Dreadnoughts already destroyed or disabled. I don't think whatever that is has even been scratched yet."
The "thing" was still sending bolts, sending torpedoes, firing from all sides at a time. It was frightening. The other ships had withdrawn, petrified, literally stunned by the spectacle. Explosion upon explosion, debris upon debris were repelled by the ships' shields. Around the scene, already some enemy ships were beginning to emerge, some in pieces, some left with only a quarter or less of their structure, all disabled, adrift, dead. The skies were a blaze of fire, metal and death, and only debris sometimes emerged from it, while the "thing" kept spreading wanton destruction to the Dominion …
They were leaving. Petrified by what they had seen, the Vorta had ordered retreat. He would confer with the Founders about what had just happened. After all, the mission was accomplished, the Federation-Romulan fleet was in ruins, the Khitomer System in shambles …
***
Aboard the Samurai, flying at maximum warp to the battle, Wilkins had nothing to do, since no one had any detail other than what the Vor'Kha had told them before it was blasted to bits by a Scimitar.
So he might as well use the time to do what he had planned to do.
"Ensign Paris?"
"Yes, Sir."
"Ensign, you have been recommended for a Special Engineering Task Force in charge of building the next generation of battleship."
"Me, Sir?"
"Yes. It seems that you collect advanced degrees in battleship design like others collect butterflies. Why?"
"My mother taught me to always be my best, Sir."
"To BE your best?"
"Yes, Sir."
"Well, that's the kind of behavior she always showed us. Your mother has promptly earned my trust and my respect. I like to think that her daughter will do the same."
"I live to serve, Sir."
Wilkins looked at the petite woman. He had judged her. The reports on her character were right. She was the kind of youth Wilkins wanted on the team.
"Walk with me, Miss Paris."
Miral started walking — almost running, really, because Wilkins was walking with all the speed his long legs allowed him —, followed by Annie. Together they reached the famed Deck Three, filled to the rim with security people.
At the door of a holodeck, Wilkins stopped and turned around.
"Ensign, what you are going to see now, you must reveal to NO ONE! You will soon understand why. Is that clear?"
"Yes, Sir!"
"Very well."
Wilkins entered a code, the door opened. They all came in. The holodeck had been transformed in an advanced Sickbay with one biobed, heavily guarded. At the bedside was Rose McCoy, holding a medical tricorder over her patient. And in the bed …
"Mother?"
"Hi … sweetheart."
"Don't tire my patient, Miss Paris", McCoy told her. "She's not out of the woods yet."
"Mother, I thought you were dead!"
While the mother and the daughter were talking, Wilkins took McCoy apart.
"How is she, Doctor?"
"Not much better than yesterday, Admiral. I'm glad you brought her daughter aboard, because we may need lots of blood, and I'd rather use real one than that crap, which is definitely not good for Klingon-human hybrids."
"She is a member of the Task Force."
"Good. I'll need to examine her thoroughly, and that means more than just scanning her. She'll definitely have to undress and spend a couple of days here."
"Xenobiology comes second, Doctor."
"Xenobiology is what may save Colonel Torres, Sir."
"I trust you, Doctor."
Wilkins went back to the bed.
"I … told her … Sir."
"Good. Ensign, I'm sorry for the scare. But now you understand why the fact that your mother had been rescued in extremis had to remain a secret."
"Yes, Sir."
"I'll leave the two of you now. Annie … Lieutenant Racicot, when she leaves, escort the Ensign to her quarters."
"Yes, Sir!"
After Wilkins had left, the two women kept talking, while Annie took McCoy aside to give them some intimacy.
"Did you recommend me for the Task Force, Mother?"
"We need young and imaginative people, ready to teach and learn. That's you, Miral. You have so much to offer Starfleet."
"Would I have been selected if you hadn't recommended me, Mother?"
"You already were on the list when I saw it for the first time, Miral. All you need to be a Chief Engineer is rank and experience. You'll get both in the Task Force."
"Would I have been selected, Mother?"
"Probably, sweetheart."
Miral looked at her mother. She so didn't want to owe her selection to favoritism. B'Elanna saw it. It was the old argument all over again.
"This task force is going to be huge, Miral. Hundreds of members, thousands maybe. Admiral Wilkins wants to shape the next generation to a long-term situation. He feels that this war may very well last decades, and he doesn't want Starfleet to depend on old geezers like him and me to lead the war effort. You would have been selected. Maybe not this soon, but you would have been … Ha!"
"Mother?"
At the first sound, the Doctor had rushed back to the bed.
"She's having an attack! Nurse! You, out!" she ordered Miral.
"She's my mother!"
"And I'm her doctor! Out! You, get her out!" she shouted at Annie.
"No! I want to … OW!"
Annie had taken Miral by the arm. The young woman tried to escape, but there was no way. Annie now held her by both arms and was irresistibly pushing her out of the room.
The door closed behind them.
Annie let Miral go. She turned around, ready to jump on her, when her human, more rational side started to slowly get the best of her. There was nothing to do but wait.
"How the hell did you do that … Sir?"
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